


Alcohol is the Anesthesia by Which We Endure

by mintkov



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bartender!Derek, Highschool!Stiles, M/M, Suicide Attempt, Warning Triggers, drunk!Stiles, slightly dark AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-22
Updated: 2012-12-01
Packaged: 2017-11-14 19:42:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 30,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/518839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mintkov/pseuds/mintkov
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'Derek.' Derek's hand meets his and shakes it firmly.</p><p> 'Nice hands.' Stiles says.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my amazing beta, Floss. <3

Stiles has had too much to drink. In fact, Stiles is drunk. But, if you were to ask him for his opinion on the matter, Stiles is not yet drunk enough. This is why, at 1am on a Friday night (or Saturday morning, depending on how much of an obsessive  _dick_  you wanted to be), Stiles stumbles once more across the dance floor and plops himself on one of the stools in front of the bar counter. He rests his elbows on the counter lazily and puts his glass down. Waving his hand for the bartender to come over, he drops his forehead onto the counter. 

 

“’Nother one,” he says, face plastered to the cool surface of the bar. He lifts his glass up encouragingly and waits, waving it around impatiently when it becomes clear that nobody has refilled it. After a minute or so of being rudely ignored, he lifts his head up and squints blearily at the bartender – who is simply watching him, eyebrows raised. Stiles raises his own. He thrusts his empty glass at him. The bartender promptly turns around and walks away to serve another person.

 

“Rude,” Stiles mumbles, placing his glass down. He leans against the counter, trying to steady himself. His surroundings seem to be tilting ominously to one side. Instinctively, he reaches out and grabs his glass, worrying that it might slide away down the sloping counter. He looks at it, dazed, and sees that it’s  _still empty_ (which is just not on, given that he’s  _in a freaking bar_ ). He glances around, looking for somebody to complain to. The bartender is just to his right (right? left?) so he clutches his glass tightly and launches himself in that vague direction. The man currently being served looks big and sturdy and slightly like Bruce Willis, so Stiles doesn’t hesitate to reach out and steady himself (by grabbing the man’s forearm tightly) and edge around him to confront the bartender again. However, ‘Bruce Willis’ isn’t too thrilled about this little arrangement; he grunts at Stiles and shakes him off, a string of colourful words spilling from his mouth. “ _Oh my God_ , Bruce,” Stiles huffs, swaying. “No need to be so  _uncivil_.” The man looks affronted. “Jus’ leave, please, I have unfinished business here,” Stiles continues, giving the man a push in the direction of the door. The man looks more offended than ever, but walks away all the same, throwing a disapproving look towards Stiles as he goes.

 

The bartender, watching the scene unfold with something akin to amusement, puts down the glass he was cleaning and leans forward, placing both hands on the counter. Stiles turns around to find the bartender staring at him. “What?” Stiles slurs at last, breaking the silence. The man simply snorts and rolls his eyes, and returns to polishing the glass. Stiles (being, y’know,  _drunk_ ) is mesmerized as the rag goes round and round and round. That glass is probably cleaner now than it was when newly bought, he thinks internally - considering the amount of effort this man seems to put into his polishing.

 “Y'know, you’re not doin' a very good job of bein' a bartender,” Stiles manages to say, barely audible over the thundering music and his spectacular inability to communicate. “You’re s'posed to get people drinks when they ask.” The bartender doesn't even look up. Stiles frowns. “I asked politely. What’s with you, d'yuh not what wanna be paid or somethin’?”  This gets no response either, so Stiles inspects his own glass. If he screws up his eyes, there’s a very small amount of drink left at the bottom. He tilts the glass back and forth, letting the liquid slide around, and chews on his straw. The bartender sighs, finally making eye contact, and Stiles pounds his fist in the air triumphantly, slightly unbalancing himself. “I knew you couldn’t… ignore me forever,” he says.

  
“What do you want?”

   
“Vodka and coke, please,” Stiles says, batting his lashes and smiling sweetly. The bartender huffs and snatches the glass away from Stiles. He turns around, and Stiles hears the clink of glass upon glass.  The finished product slides in Stiles' direction a minute later and Stiles catches it swiftly, giving the bartender his best smile (why is the bartender making that face? It's his best smile, for crying out loud). Stiles resists the urge to pout and pulls his full glass of Vodka-Coke-Drink-thing, nodding drunkenly and saying, “Thanks,” before stumbling back into the wild river of bodies instead. 

 

\--

 

The next time, it's a Saturday night, and it’s crowded. Pretty standard for a Saturday, actually, which is pretty much always their busiest day of the week. Derek’s worked here for long enough now to know what to expect from a shift. And yet, it never fails to annoy him - the sheer volume amount of intoxicated sleazebags that sidle up to him and ask for his number, or drop some cliché pick-up lines that are probably the most that their alcohol-fried brains could come up with. He doesn’t know what’s more annoying: the dull repetitiveness of, “Thanks, but no thanks. Can I get you another drink instead?” or the sad fact that he only gets this kind attention from drunk idiots that can barely see 20 centimetres beyond of their own noses. Drunk people are the worst. Really, the absolute worst. Derek doesn’t even know  _how_  he ended up working in a bar. Honestly, getting paid to help people slowly disintegrate into vomiting messes is a shitty way to earn a living.

  
Naturally, it doesn’t surprise him – only saddens him, perhaps - when he sees a young boy of around sixteen or seventeen staggering through the crowd, drunk senseless. Derek recognizes him almost instantly – this boy is in here an awful lot these days; arriving just as it starts to get busy, and often staying until right up until the cleaners come in to wipe the tables down stack the chairs. He shakes his head and busies himself with the few people sitting by the bar. They all look like they're ready to die at any moment.  _Heartbroken_ , Derek thinks to himself. These people are here, most nights, to drink their pain away. Completely boring, really; typical in the dullest way humanly possible, but effective nonetheless. In his opinion, people should spend time  _reading_  – or even just engaging themselves in something more productive than killing their brain cells with alcohol. Not that Derek is any better; he  _is_  the one selling the alcohol.

 

He looks up again, moving over to the next miserable-looking sod; only to find himself face to face with none other than the young boy he’d just seen trip over his own feet on the dancefloor. He winces at the memory, hopefully not visible enough for the boy to notice, before carefully putting his glass down and saying, “What can I get you?”

  
“Anything,” the boy mumbles, and hands him the empty glass.

  
“Alright.”

 

Derek takes the glass and, feeling slightly evil, pours in the most creative combination of brain-numbing substances that he can come up with. He knows it will taste good. “That should do you some good,” he says, handing the drink to the boy, who wobbles on his unstable legs. Derek watches him take a hesitant sip, waiting for a reaction. At first, Derek thinks perhaps he’s made it too strong, because the boy swallows, and freezes up completely. Panicking that the boy will pass out and hit his head on the floor and that Derek will get fired for killing an underage teen (who shouldn’t even be in here, for God’s sake, and it’s not Derek’s fault that people are so _annoying_ ) he asks, “How is it?”

The boy doesn’t answer. Then his eyes go wide and refocus on Derek.  
“Dude, this is incredible! You're my maannn.” Smiling cheerfully, the kid tips an imaginary hat to Derek in thanks and meanders aimlessly off in the sea of bodies. Derek smirks; at least he now knows how to get the boy to shut up. 

 

\--

 

Stiles keeps his arm in the air, switching arms every now and then to keep his drink above the mesh of bodies around him. He can feel various strangers pressing their bodies against his, sometimes just for a couple of seconds, sometimes a couple of minutes if they were dedicated. In a way, he reasons, the whole concept is a bit weird.  _Hey, I don’t know you, but my chest is now going to get acquainted with your back_. It doesn't actually bother Stiles - he’s just out to have a good time. Even if he is alone. Scott left him to spend some 'quality time' with Allison, taking advantage of how forgiving ‘Oh Dearest Papa Argent’ is being to them at the moment. Stiles doesn’t mind, though (honest). Scott is crazy about Allison. You'd have to be an idiot not to see it. It’s just that sometimes, he wishes he could just have a  _little_  more ‘bro time’. Oh well; beggars can't be choosers, can they?

The music is very loud. He can feel the bass thumping in sync with his heartbeat. He doesn't really know what he's doing; he hasn't been to clubs and bars like this much. He's more used to spending his evenings watching things online, or playing video games and doing homework. But Stiles has been to house parties, and birthday parties. And there were also those rare occasions when he’s managed to get on Danny's good side, and Danny would bring him to a club like this. Considering his relative lack of experience, he'd say he's doing pretty well so far. 

His throat is burning, he's feeling slightly dazed, but his body is moving naturally to the sound of the music, and he doesn't have to think about what he's doing, just let his body take control. It's easier that way; he'd rather have fun  _and_  forget about everything.

After a while, he grows bored of the constant knock of elbows and the heat of bodies, so he shuffles back to the counter again - towards the brooding bartender that very visibly scowls the moment he sees Stiles making his way towards him. Stiles smiles giddily back and throws himself on the counter, sliding his glass over with just enough force so that the bartender has to react quickly to prevent it from falling over the other side and smashing. It’s quite funny to watch. Stiles feels proud to have thought of this little game himself, considering how out of it he is. 

\--

Derek catches the glass, glowering. It doesn't feel right for him to carry on serving an under-aged kid when the kid in question looks like he could throw up or  pass out - most likely simultaneously - at any moment. Nevertheless, he once again pours out his ‘special recipe’. The kid looks like he wants another. Derek furrows his brow. He’s usually fairly adept at figuring out the woes of the frequent late-night drinkers, at working out what it is that keeps bringing them back. But he can’t quite work this kid out; he doesn't look sad enough to be heartbroken, he  _definitely_  isn't listless and drained of any energy – not like the older ones in suits with marriage problems (those ones are easy as hell to spot). Most kids here that visit come in with a group of friends, whether in the form of a local high school sports team, celebrating a winning game, or just a group of girls, cheering up one member of their gang after a break up. Derek grits his teeth; that sort is  _always_  the worst culprit when it comes to lame attempts to get his attention.

 This kid, though, is always alone. It’s become something of a challenge for Derek to figure out. The kid must be another one that comes here to get away from his problem (whatever that may be) or he wouldn’t be here so frequently. It’s funny - the boy has a goofy smile so permanent it looks glued on, false; but his eyes are always downcast. Derek feels a tugging sensation that makes him want to ask about it, but seeing how smashed the boy is, Derek doubts he’ll want to talk about it. Especially not with a bartender who refused to sell him a drink the first time round. Derek watches the boy’s eyes again. Now Derek looks properly, they seem almost constantly on the verge of tears, like a black cloud that could break at any moment. (Wow, Derek really needs a more cheerful job.)

The boy has noticed Derek watching him and pauses just a second too long, holding his gaze almost defiantly. Then something flickers in eyes, and Derek takes a step backwards, surprised. The boys’ face has glazed over again. He grabs his drink, weaving back into the crowd. Derek blinks, feeling slightly stunned. Something had just transpired, he was sure of it. He feels odd, like he’s been hit in the face with something heavy. What had that  _look_  been about? It wasn’t… anger, or lust, or any of the kind of looks he’s used to getting here. It was almost like he’d been  _challenging_ Derek - and there had definitely been some kind of want in his eyes (if not your typical kind), mixing with the underlying sadness.

 

Derek exhales loudly, moving onto the next customer, but the boy and whatever was troubling him and his sad eyes dance in the back of his mind for the rest of the evening. Derek doesn’t even know his name.

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

It was late afternoon, before Stiles got himself out of the McCalls' with Scott to go back to the club for his Jeep. His head was still throbbing, and regardless of the amount of water he drank, it still kills. Hangovers are a bitch.

His drive over with Scott was silent, Scott had asked him why he'd been out so late and why he was alone, and Stiles had refused to answer—it wasn't necessary for him to know. That definitely pissed Scott off.   He mumbles thanks and gets into his jeep. He turns on the radio to the crappiest, pop channel he could find and turns the volume up. He hangs his arm out the window, tapping his fingers on the car door to the beat of the music as he drove through the edge of the woods, the wind blowing in his hair. He slows down as he gets back on the main road, following the road rules. On the last corner before he reaches home, he turns off the radio, rolls his window back up and drives cautiously into the driveway. He kills the engine and gets into the house, only to find very worried, disappointed faces. That much wasn't a surprise. What is a surprise is that his stepmother (he refuses to call her 'mom'   _because_ ) extends her arm, waiting for him to give her something. He looks at her, confused. She must’ve realized that he's far too stupid to understand, snatches his keys and walks off. His jaw drops, and gapes. His father wraps his arms around him and says, 

'We were so worried, at least give us a call, Stiles.' His dad pulls away, his hands are still firm on Stiles' shoulder, 'Seriously, son, don't scare us like that again.' His dad's eyes flashes a hint of worry, but Stiles refuses to give in. If he was really worried, he would’ve gone out to find him, or at the very least call. Stiles pulls him back into a hug and whispers, 'sorry, dad.'  

He pulls away and trudges upstairs to his room, closing the door gently behind him and not bothering to bolt it. It's not like anyone ever comes in anyway. He opens his laptop and starts doing his homework, knowing he'd probably spend all night with the amount of procrastination he does, and his ADHD doesn't help. He spends most of his time researching the most pointless things, but it does come in handy some time in the future, you'd be surprised how much of the stuff he wastes his time on actually brings up his grades in some of his essays. 

Meredith calls him down for dinner; he shuts his laptop and sighs, running his hands up and down his face, before getting up and going downstairs to the kitchen. It's usually just him and Meredith for dinner; his dad is always busy with one case or the other. Meredith never lets him take his dinner to the couch in front of the TV or upstairs to his room, so the dinners are always uncomfortable. Stiles never gets to talk about his day, or how lacrosse practice went. He's always fidgeting, and shifting around on his seat, resisting the overwhelming temptation to say more than just the small talk they have. She'd always ask him how his day went, but she doesn't mean it. She expects a simple, short, 'good.' or, 'it went fine, and yours?'. It was different though, when his dad was at dinner, the rare occasion where he would run his mouth and his dad would actually seem intrigued. Whether that be how he really felt, or a pretty darn good act. Meredith's face never left something similar of a scowl of annoyance.  

His life hadn't been great, ever since his dad remarried. Meredith seemed like a great woman when he first met her: she was able to make his dad really happy, and that was all that mattered to him. His dad had really suffered from the loss for way too long, and he really deserved to be happy. Stiles was glad that his dad managed to find happiness again. He remembered when he brought her home for dinner, introducing her to Stiles. He told him that Meredith had been a new nurse, working at Beacon Hills Hospital and Melissa thought that Meredith might be the right person for his father after his mom passed away. Now? He's not so sure.

\--

School's  been a great distraction from home, he has Scott. Although, right now, Scott was obviously trying to avoid him. He has a larger group of friends now, if you considered Allison always sitting with them at lunch, and her and Scott being inseparable. Sometimes, if he's lucky, he'd get Lydia to sit with him too, which is always a great surprise because she's absolutely beautiful. But of course, having her on the table also meant having Jackson, and his company was not exactly always welcomed. His presence only made bearable with Danny. Everyone loves Danny. It just simply was.

The day went by frustratingly slow. As always, Mr. Harris made the chemistry classes absolutely enjoyable, and by that, he means a living hell. Mr. Harris had a thing for picking on Stiles, making sure that one way or another, Stiles would end up in detention. You would think he loved spending time with Stiles, he just loved spending time with Stiles as he suffered.  Stiles didn't do badly in class, but he wasn't a grade A genius either. Sure, he definitely managed to scrape by in class, with a score just above average, and that was impressive for a kid with ADHD. 

Nonetheless, the best part about school was lacrosse practice. Although he was on the bench most of the time, it didn't matter, because he actually loved it. He loves the sport, he loves the way it feels, the rare times he got to play. He loves catching the ball and shooting into the goal, regardless of whether it went in or not. He didn't really care, the only times he ever got to play was the games they had during practice. Being on the benches had a great benefit. He could watch everything. He liked the anticipation of the game, while sitting on the sidelines, he follows the ball with eyes, his breath catching whenever the it comes too close to his side of the goal. He loves it, to put it simply. He knows he isn't great, but it's the spirit that counts, right? Plus, he'd make a pretty good cheerleader, if you count yelling and swearing as cheerleading.

After practice, he takes a quick shower and puts on a spare change of clothes, hoping that Scott isn't too pissed and is okay with giving him a ride home. He runs out to the parking lot, just to see Mrs. McCall's car speeding out of school. His shoulder drops and sighs. This is going to be a very long walk home.

\--

Scott being Scott, he wasn't able hold a grudge for long, and by Wednesday, he as already telling Stiles everything that happened between him and Allison over the weekend. It just exploded during lunch, and everything came pouring out. Stiles grinned, and laughed along with Scott. However, any of those things Stiles never needed to hear, ever. 

'No, seriously dude, you don't understand, it was amazing.' Scott says, sounding like an over excited puppy.

'Great, dude, I'm sure it was incredible, but I don't want to hear all your amazing new discoveries on Allison's body. Not something I'll ever want to know.' Stiles grimaces.

'Yeah, sorry man.' Scott ducks his head and smiles.

'You're thinking about it again, aren't you?' Stiles asks. 

'Yeah..' Scott confessed quietly, his cheeks going pink. Stiles cuffs him and laughs.

'You wanna hang out this weekend? There's a rave over at Billy's.' Scott asks him, completely changing the subject. Stiles raises an eyebrow.

'Just you and me, promise, no Allison.' They've completely stopped moving now, just standing in the middle of the corridor. Stiles continues to look at him, one hand on his hip, the other holding the strap of his backpack, waiting for the catch.

'Allison is going away with her dad.' Scott says sheepishly.

'Alright man, if you really can't stay away from me. You know you need my love, you'd be dead with out me.' Stiles grins and wraps his arm around Scott's head and brings him down in a playful head lock, dragging him into the classroom.

Economics with Finstock was always a good way to start the day. He rarely knew what he was talking about, and loved to use game time in the next match as a bribe for good work in class. It was pretty smart, for someone like Finstock. 

\--

The rest of the week flew by, the same as always, the only thing that ploughed him through the week enthusiastically is the Rave on Saturday night. He manages to finish all his homework before midnight on Wednesday night, and Thursday night, a Stilinski record. Friday night rolls around, and he's working on his Physics homework when he hears a knock on the door. 

'Come in,' Stiles calls, without looking up from his homework. He really wants to try and finish this before 8, so he can go out, you know, alone. Again.

He hears the door creak open, and he sneaks a peek at the person that walks in. It certainly wasn't someone he was expecting. 

'You're here!' Stiles breathes out, his dad was never back this early. He almost felt guilty for sounding so surprised.

'Yeah, i am, son. Dinner?' His dad gives him a weak smile, slightly embarrassed. Stiles nods and barely refrains from tripping over the leg of his chair, stumbling across his room and down the stairs to help make Meredith set the table. She never let's him cook, even though he knows he can. He knows he can cook, people have praised him many times before. She just refuses every time, he's given up on trying to ask and settles for just setting the table. He guesses it's okay since he realizes he doesn't really want to share the time and memories he's spent with his mother with some woman that treats him like he is a nuisance and a child out of hand. He hates it.  His dad sits at the top of the table, with him and Meredith on each side. He talks about his week, and how he's doing better on school. He talks about lacrosse and compares Jackson to a wolf for some god damn reason, then goes on about the formation and nature of wolves in pack, the alphas and betas, and the lone wolf omega. His hands have dropped his knife and fork on the table, and are animating his stories, his eyes are sparkling, his mouth running. It's been a while since he's spoken this much and maintains eye contact with his dad. He loves it.  He makes the mistake of glancing over to Meredith, with the hope of engaging more of his audience, only to be slapped with a stone cold expression. He smile falters, his voice becomes unsteady and the sparkle drains from his eyes.  He quiets down, his voice fading. He picks his knife and fork up and continues with his dinner. His dad looks confused, then graduates shock at Stiles' ability to shut up at such a speed. The uncomfortable silence hung in the air, Meredith's face softened slightly, but John's face remains the same - confused and concerned. Stiles avoided eye contact while he finished up his dinner hastily. He puts his knife and fork on the plate, pushes his chair back and walks over to the dishwasher. He pretends not to notice the stare his dad is giving him and the disinterest Meredith was blatantly showing. 

'I'm going out, dad, I'll be back late.' Stiles mentions as he walks past them.

'And how exactly are you going to 'go out'?' Meredith asks in a tone that can easily be mistaken as an innocent question, but Stiles knows better. He realizes she probably knew that he stoles his keys back from her drawer earlier in the evening, and shifts around nervously.

'Scott's picking me up, just down the road.' Stiles lies, it was a weak one and he prays she'd believe it.

'Scott's with Allison tonight.' Stiles winces and closes his eyes for a brief second, wondering how she knew. he considers telling her the truth, knowing that she'll just take his keys again and probably ground him for life. 

'A friend is picking me up.' Stiles says with much more confidence than he actually feels.

'Who might that be?' Meredith asks, raising her eyebrows. He looks over to his dad, but John was looking at his dinner plate, refusing to be part of the conversation.

'Someone you don't know.' Stiles answers, his brain ticking away.

'Why did you lie?' She says in a much sharper tone, causing John to abruptly look up at stare at her. It caught Stiles off guard, but it shouldn't really, he's been through this before.

'I didn't want you to worry.' He mumbles as guiltily as he can, hoping she'd take the bait once again.

'Don't be back too late, sweetie.' Meredith says, smiling. Almost as if she cared, but her eyes gave her away, they were cold and hard.

\--

'Hey man,' Stiles says to the bartender as he sits on the stool, 'Same drink as last time.' Lucky for him, it was the same guy from last week, and he ain't gonna lie, now that he's sober, the guy was pretty damn hot. 

The bartender shakes his head slightly, almost in disapproval, but thinks better of it and pours him a drink.

'So. Why a bartender?' Stiles asks before he takes a sip. The bartender just looks up at him, (note: like the bartender looks at him being all like 'you serious bro'), then looks away.

'Dude, I asked you a question.'

'How about, just because I wanted to?' The bartender counters, 'and don't call me dude.'

'That's barely an answer,' Stiles replies, and then adds, 'dude.' He smirks. The bartender huffs and turns his back on him.

'Oh, come on, I'm sorry. Don't be such a party pooper.' Stiles laughs.

'Shouldn't you be home studying?' The bartender asks. Stiles gapes.

'You're a little too young to be here, don't you think?' He smirks in satisfaction and walks away, leaving Stiles speechless.

'Party pooper,' Stiles mumbles, pushing himself off the counter and  makes his way back into the crowd.   It wasn't long before he came back for another drink, the drunker he was, the better it was for his ability to deal with his crappy life. He sways back into the stool, cursing as his leg slams on the to stool leg. The bartender looks at him in amusement.

 'Seeing something you like?' Stiles slurs and winks. If he was sober right now, he'd be horrified at his actions, guess that's one good thing about being drunk, eh. The bartender raises his eyebrows even higher up, Stiles was pretty sure that wasn't humanly possible. 

 'Stiles, a pleasure to meet you.' Stiles sticks his hand out as an introduction and smiles. The bartender doesn't budge.

 'I'm just trying to make a friend here, if you know what I mean.' Stiles wiggles his eyebrows, and makes a sexual face, breaking Derek's disinterested exterior into a small chuckle. 

 'Derek.' Derek's hand meets his and shakes it firmly.

 'Nice hands.' Stiles says. Derek shoulders start shaking violently, and Stiles' face burns bright red.  'Good to know.' Derek chuckles, handing Stiles another drink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the posting to take so long, there were so many things that went wrong. i promise the next one will be faster. <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> completely unbeta'd and riding solos, all crap writing belongs to me haha.

He turns over, putting his hands beneath the pillow, snuggling into the cold side of the pillow, before stopping dead in his tracks. His headache was bad, and _bad_ being the understatement of the century, but it wasn't bad enough for him to not realize that he is now in a bed. _Someone’s_ bed. He was almost certain that this bed wasn’t his. He pokes his head out from beneath the blankets and tries to open his eyes. His eyelids barely flicker open, before he squeezes them shut again. It feels like the light had set his eyes on fire, they were burning. He swears to never open his and seeing the light of day again.

 

He tries to smell the sheets, hoping he’d smell something familiar, but his brain was far too fried for him to recognize anything around him. He grabs as much of the blanket as he can, and pulls it over his head. Slowly and cautiously, he dares to open his eyes ever so slightly. It’s dark enough so that his eyes don’t burn, but there’s just enough light for him to make out the color and pattern of the blanket he’s hiding under. It hits him like a freight train.

 

It all makes sense to him now, too much sense for his throbbing head to take. He inhales as much of the scent as he can, before forcing himself up and changing the sheets. As much as he hates to put this back in the cupboard, he is fuming. Meredith had no right to take out bed sheets from when he was 8. The special ones he kept, his favorite ones, where his mom would come and sing to him until he fell asleep. He had kept those at the bottom of the cupboard, it really was a mystery how it managed to end up on his bed, wasn't it?

 

He knows the Friday nights had been laundry night, he just hadn't expected her to be such an insensitive prick about her. Of course, he could turn the blind eye and say it was just pure coincidence that it was this specific set of bed sheets, but after doing far too many calculations of probability in his head for a Saturday morning with a hangover, he knows that this was no coincidence. The sheets had been at the very bottom of the cupboard, and there had been at least three other sets on top.

 

He strips the bed, and folds them neatly, humming to himself the songs his mom used to sing. No one's ever seen him like this, reminiscing the memories. The pain lingers, he refuses to let it go, he fears that by getting over the pain, he'd forget her. He tucks the sheets back at the bottom of his cupboard, and puts on a new set of sheets before going down to grab something to eat.

 

It isn't a surprise to find Meredith sitting on the table, her fingers curled around a coffee mug, her back straight. Her eyes followed him like a hawk, sharp and precise, watching every move.

'Had fun?' She begins her interrogation. Stiles breath catches, he forces himself to calm down, pick up the toast from the toaster. Spread butter. Act normal.

'Yeah, I did.' Stiles replies.

'Of course.' Meredith takes a drink from the coffee mug, then placing her mug back on the table carefully. She purses her lips, and sweeps her eyes across the kitchen.

‘It was quite generous of your friend to bring you back at such an ungodly hour, he must be special, isn’t he?’ Meredith asks smoothly, her gaze remains on the clock above the fridge. Stiles goes frigid, his brain working hard, trying to remember anything, _anything,_ that happened last night, but to no avail. The last thing he remembers is talking up the bartender...  Derek, was it?

‘Yeah, sure. I guess he is.’ Stiles says casually, biting into his toast. It gives him an excuse for not talking. Meredith just waits until he swallows before asking him the next question.

‘He’s a good looking guy, too. I wonder how someone as disruptive and restless as you manages to score someone like him,’ Meredith sneers. Stiles feels like he can’t breathe. He grasps his cup of milk and chugs it down his throat.

‘He’s just a friend, honestly. That’s all he his.’ Stiles stammers and puts the cup down clumsily.

‘Of course, he is. He’s far too good for you, isn’t he? A troublesome high school kid like you, you’d never have a chance with a girl,’ Meredith pauses for a couple of seconds, before turning her head over to Stiles, narrowing her eyes, ‘Oh wait, this one isn’t a girl, is it? Is there something you want to tell me, Stiles?’

'No, Meredith.' Stiles whispers, as he casts his eyes down to the tiled floor. He feels small, even smaller under the intense gaze Meredith was giving him, like prey; trapped and defenseless, he hated it. He hated feeling so helpless, so vulnerable.

'Okay sweetie, have a good afternoon.' Meredith says after a long pause. She stands up, both arms pushing herself off the chair, takes the coffee mug in one hand and walks out of the kitchen like nothing had happened. As soon as the door closes behind her, Stiles collapses against the table, and breathes a long sigh of relief.

He looks at his toast - now cold and soggy, and wrinkles his nose as he drops it in the bin. He washes the plate and the mug that now had a ring of dried milk inside it and goes upstairs to change.

Stiles trudges back upstairs, and sits himself down in front of his laptop. He sees a message waiting for him on Skype and clicks to open it.

**Scott:**

_Hey man, you ready for the Rave tonight?_

 

He checks the time, and is barely surprised to find that he's slept the entire morning and afternoon away, it was very nearly 5pm.

 **Stiles** :

_Yeah bro, it's gonna be wild! Still no keys, pick me up?_

**Scott** :

_Again? -.-_

**Stiles** :

_Do you want me there or not?_

**Scott** :

_I could always go with Allison. :)_

Stiles wrinkles his nose and quickly types a reply.

 **Stiles** :

_Don't you dare. Or I won't introduce you to my new bartender friend._

**Scott** :

_Omg who?_

**Stiles** :

_Guess you'll have to pick me up to find out. :)_

**Scott** :

_You suck._

**Scott** :

_I'll be there at 7._

Stiles smiles to himself, shuts the laptop and goes out for a shower.

 

\--

 

They open the double doors that led to the awkward part of the warehouse where it was neither inside nor outside, and hands their tickets to the huge guy with a badge. The huge guy looks at them for a brief second, contemplating on whether to ask them for ID.

‘We’re friends of Derek’s.’ Stiles says, just a tad too fast to be normal. He looks up at the big guy and smiles. The big guy’s face visibly changes to a much more accepting expression, punches the holes in their tickets, and lets them through the doors. A ray of UV lights hits them, and blinds them momentarily before it continues it’s way across the floor.

  
The place swarming with bodies rubbing against each other, people sharing bodily fluids – not particularly attractive, but typical. Stiles weaves his way towards the bar, bobbing his head to the beat of the music. Scott trails behind, stiffening every time someone grabs his ass. It’s really not his fault; Scott _is_ cute. Stiles finally sees a familiar face, polishing glass behind the bar, having a small chat with a guy of medium build in a grey shirt.

‘Derek.’ Stiles says, dragging the last syllable into a pitch three octaves higher so it sounds more like, ‘Dereeeek’. Derek gives him a quick glance, before returning to the conversation he was in.

‘Seriously man, you really like me begging, don’t you?’ Stiles whines, pouting at Derek. Scott’s jaw drops and slaps Stiles arm.

‘Dude, are you crazy? He’s going to murder you!’

‘Remember my friend I told you about?’ Scott nods. After a couple of seconds, Stiles stares in disbelief, Scott _can’t_ be this stupid.

‘Derek?’ Scott asks weakly.

‘No, it’s obviously the guy in the grey shirt, whose name I don’t even know, and definitely _not_ the guy that I just completely batted my eyelashes to.’ Stiles gives him a look, but Scott just stares back at him with a blank face, completely clueless.

‘Oh my God, Scott, _yes,_ it’s Derek!’ Stiles throws his hands up dramatically, ‘How do you even survive without me?’

‘You look like you need a drink.’ Derek smirks, catching Stiles’ attention. Stiles swings his head around and squints his eyes.

‘Are you going to poison me?’ He questions suspiciously. Derek chuckles.

‘I would, but that might cost me my job, and if you can remember, I’m doing this job because _I actually want to_.’ Stiles pulls a face, before nodding at Derek to make a drink for him and Scott.

 

As Derek turns around to the opposite side of the bar, he smiles to himself, he doesn’t know what it is, but he’s happy for the kid. He brought a friend with him this time, and judging from the way they act around each other, they must be fairly close. It lifts some weight off Derek’s chest; the weight that Derek hadn’t even noticed was there, _he’s too young to be broken,_ Derek thinks to himself. It doesn’t stop him wondering though, as to why Stiles would come by himself every other weekend. He turns back around and hands them their drinks, giving Stiles’ friend – Scott, he hears Stiles calls him – the stink eye just for kicks. Scott looks like he could piss himself. Derek huffs a laugh as soon as they were out of earshot.

 

Stiles leads Scott into swarm of bodies, dancing and grinding to a couple of people, here and there, regardless of gender. It flatters him when someone thinks he’s attractive enough to dance with, male or female. The fluorescent green beam of light, stutters at Stiles chest, before moving on to its next destination, leaving Stiles and Scott in the dark once more. He glances at Scott only to find him shuffling awkwardly to the music and mumbling ‘sorry’ every time he ‘touches’ someone. It’s ironic how Stiles blends in with the crowd here, that he just belongs; however, in school, he sticks out like a sore thumb. Scott? Scott was the complete opposite. One would think he’d be graceful and fun in a place like this, since he was the one to invite Stiles to the Rave, but he has never looked more out of place. Not even when he was playing lacrosse against Jackson.

 

Stiles chugs his drink in one go, feeling the alcohol burn at the back of his throat. It was a painful but familiar feeling, and he loves it. He feels a spark of energy rock up at the base of his skull, blurring his vision for a couple of seconds. He blinks hard, and when he opens his eyes, he finds the colors are brighter; the music is louder, he feels a tingling sensation against his skin. He quickly weaves back out for another glass and chugs it again. His senses become even more heightened, he dances and grinds and sings. He forgets everything that matters. He’s so used to being here alone and feeling like this, he forgets that Scott is behind him, looking like a lost puppy.

‘Stiles? Stiles!’ Scott shouts at him as he tugs on Stiles’ shirt.

‘What?’ Stiles shouts back.

‘I’ve called your name five times, you just left me here!’ Scott yells back.

‘Have some fun, relax! Dance!’ Stiles says, wiggling his eyebrows, jerking his body to the music. Scott groans, and grabs someone’s drink and chugs it. He starts to make his way into the crowd, distancing himself from Stiles. If Stiles wants to go home, he’ll have to find him.

 

Stiles manages to find a very pretty girl to dance with, pretty might not be what she truly was, but everyone was pretty to him. He was drunk, and he didn’t care. She had long, blonde, messy hair, green eyes, and very, _very_ pretty lips. He danced with her, feeling her ass on his groin, her back against his chest. He may or may not have also gotten some lip action.

Stiles goes on his tiptoes, scanning the crowd for an awkward boy with curly brown hair, finding him in the corner with a yummy looking guy. _No_. Guys aren’t ‘yummy’, Stiles slaps himself in the face, _girls_ are. He rushes towards Scott, and pulls him out before being completely devoured by a very good-looking person.

‘Dude, are you crazy? You have a girlfriend! You can’t just go round chucking your junk at good-looking _guys_.’ Stiles shouts.

‘You told me to have fun!’ Scott protests.

‘Well, I meant dance a little, grab some drinks, not potentially cheat on your girlfriend!’ Stiles yells back, ushering Scott to the bar.

 

Stiles gets Scott on the stool, and he jumps onto the one next to him. He was feeling far too sober to enjoy himself. Scott passes out on the bar, with one arm stretched out, loosely holding onto the glass he had earlier.

‘Lightweight.’ Stiles mumbles as he waves his glass around for Derek.

‘Not so polite, are we?’ Derek asks as he quickly grabs Scott’s drinks before it did any damage.

‘’Nother. Not drunk enough.’ Stiles complains and gives Derek a look. He brown eyes unfocused, with a hint of sadness, which would be undetectable had Derek not been looking attentively.

‘You wanna talk?’ Derek asks, then winces, breaking his promise to himself last week.

‘What good would that do? I’m here to have fun. ‘Nother one, _please_.’ Stiles says grumpily, looking away. Derek had expected it, though. Who was he for Stiles to open up to? Stiles only knew him for a week, only got to know him yesterday, whereas Derek had been observing for weeks. Although Derek had been slightly surprised at how much self preservation Stiles had, seeing as most just dumps their problems at the first person that gave them the chance, (which often results in Derek regretting he ever asked them in the first place, but some people never learn from their past mistakes) Stiles didn’t give in to the easy way out.

 

Derek makes him another drink, telling him he’d take care of his friend who’s now drooling onto the bar. Stiles winces as Scott snorts a snore before snapping a picture with his phone. He’s definitely going to use that in the near future. He raises his glass to Derek, as if telling him ‘cheers’ and loses himself in the crowd.

 

\--

 

It’s late – or early – or whatever you want to call it, because right now, Stiles is drunk out of his mind, and the crowd is thinning to a mere couple of dozen people. Stiles is back by the bar, drinking his problems away, staring at Scott’s peaceful sleeping, despite the chaos around him. His vision was blurred around the edges, and he could barely hear anything, everything was numb, but he could feel the beat of the music pulsating through his veins. He feels a hand hit his face, snapping back into reality.

‘What the hell?!’ Stiles shouts to the familiar face.

‘You should go home.’ Derek says calmly.

‘And you had to hit me for that?’ Stiles fumes.

‘I was calling your name for the past 5 minutes, but you were far too out of it to hear me.’ Derek shrugs, Stiles sticks his tongue out at Derek. Stiles shakes Scott away, tipping him off the stool. Scott feels the fall and jerks awake, regaining his balance.

‘Grumpy here is kicking us out.’ Stiles tells him, as he scrubs his eyes and blinks a couple of times.

‘Nngh, now? Fifteen more minutes.’ Scott says, swatting Stiles’ hands away. Stiles glares at Derek.

‘We can’t go home.’ Stiles states.

‘I’ll drive you home.’ Derek offers, putting his glass down. Stiles frowns, that wasn’t the response he was expecting.

‘You don’t know where I live..’ Stiles trails off, putting the pieces together. Derek crosses his arms and waits. It would usually take Stiles much faster to put two and two together, but considering his state of mind, it’s pretty impressive that he could put anything together at all.

‘You drove me home.’ Stiles says, slightly confused. Derek nods and gives him an are-you-that-slow look.

‘That’s creepy, dude, how do you know where I live?’ Stiles asks him.

‘You told me where you live.’ Derek speaks slowly, as the concept was so difficult to understand.

‘Arrright, let’s go to Scott’s this time.’ Stiles says, as he shoves Scott off the stool. Scott jerks awake and scowls, before trudging after Stiles. Derek remains behind the bar.

‘You don’t want us drunk driving, do you? We could be killed you know,’ Stiles shouts. Derek rolls his eyes, grabs his keys and punches out.

 

\--

 

Stiles tells Derek to park a couple of blocks away from the McCalls’ to avoid waking Mrs. McCall – ‘please, _Melissa.’_ – and Derek complies. He kills the ignition and wakes Scott up. Stiles makes a mental note to never come out partying with Scott again, despite how many irresistible puppy faces he pulls. He drags Scott out of the car and with him and Derek on either side; they manage to drag Scott home.

 

Stiles slaps Scott awake, then covers his mouth with his hand, telling Scott to quiet down, before pointing up to the roof. They’d have to climb in that way, to avoid waking Melissa up, and if they do, it won’t be pretty. Stiles gives Derek a thumbs up and shoos him away, mumbling ‘thanks’ as he left. They climb up the roof, like they always had when they snuck out into school or when Scott went to see Allison and he needed Stiles as an alibi, it was swift and quick. Little did they know that Derek was keeping an eye on them, making sure they got in safe.

 

Before Stiles fell asleep, he realizes that Derek had been in his home, been to Scott’s home, knows their names and favorite drinks, yet, Stiles still doesn’t have his number. He’d have to remember to ask for it next time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if it's still worth going on, please drop a comment? i have another chapter ready, but i don't know if it's worth posting..


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's the next chapter! i hope you guys like it. :D <3

Chapter 4

 

Stiles pushes his cart round to the next row, picking up vegetables and fruits that he plans on having for the next couple of days, not that it really matters, Meredith will be cooking regardless of what he wants. He just likes eating the things he actually likes, rather than whatever Meredith can conjure up for the meals. He places the nice, healthy ones in the cart and hums along to his iPod. He sways his hips and nods his head, throwing his arms here and there to the music playing in his ears, picking up things and chucking them into the cart along the way.

‘Nice moves,’ he hears a chuckle behind him, and straightens up immediately. He jerks his head to the direction of the voice, only to find none other than Derek, arms crossed and smirking.

‘You like what you see?’ Stiles winks and wiggles his eyebrows, surprised at where his confidence came from. It wasn’t often where he’d be comfortable being so forward with someone apart from Scott – especially with someone like Derek, because _wow,_ Derek is _gorgeous_. He thought Derek was hot when he was drunk, he never thought Derek would look this good when he was sober. He glances down onto his body, realizing what he was wearing – a worn down hoodie and black, torn sweatpants. Well this is attractive.

‘Sure.’ Derek laughs, grabs a carton of milk and starts to walk away.

‘Hey – wait!’ Stiles shouts, remembering something he thought of the night before. Derek turns around, but doesn’t say anything.

‘I still don’t have your number.’ Stiles says sheepishly. Derek raises his eyebrows and smirks a little.

‘Oh my God, not like that, Jesus,’ Stiles throws his arms in the air, trying – but failing – to hide his obvious blush, and quickly grabs the cart that was spinning from when his hands left the handle.

‘I mean, I know your name, and you know mine, you know where I live, you know where _Scott_ lives, and he’s barely even your friend, but I’m totally your friend right? I mean you make really nice drinks and you’re always there when I’m there, oh man I’m talking too much again, aren’t I? Well, my point is, don’t you think I deserve to know something of yours too?’ Stiles puts his hands on his hips and looks up at Derek challengingly. Derek just stares back at him, then after a couple of seconds, he sighs and reaches his free hand out.

‘Give me your phone.’ He says, giving in. Stiles smiles gleefully, grabbing the phone from his back pocket and hands it over. Derek punches in his number, hands it back, and turns around, shoving his free hand in his pocket, swinging the carton of milk by his side as he walks away. Stiles stares.

‘And yeah, I do.’ He calls back before turning the corner. Stiles stands there for a couple of minutes, tilting his head slightly to the left in confusion, before his jaw drops as he suddenly realizes what Derek had been talking about – the question he asked earlier. He feels a blush creeping up on his cheeks, and rubs the back of his neck with his hand.

 

He pushes the cart towards the cashier, pulls out his wallet and pays with the filthiest bills he could find, earning himself a nasty look from the cashier man. He grabs all the grocery bags and hobbles to his car, tripping over himself a couple of times since, you know, he’s _Stiles_.

 

\--

 

He noisily puts the plastic bags on the table, taking out the vegetables and rinsing them before putting them in the fridge. He hums happily to the tune last played in his iPod as he cleans up the kitchen and gets ready for dinner, replaying the recent events in his head. He catches himself smiling and starts blushing, quickly looking around incase there were any witnesses to his embarrassing slip up.

 

He walks up the stairs and throws himself on the bed, sighing as he does so. He closes his eyes for a couple of minutes, letting the exhaustion break through and overwhelm him. He allows sleep to take over for a couple of brief minutes, far too brief for his liking, but Meredith calls him down for dinner. He checks the time on the small Pikachu clock he has on his bedside table – another memory his mother left him - only then realizing that he fell asleep for almost an hour.

 

'Good day?' Meredith asks as she turns around. Stiles catches himself smiling, and starts blushing even more. She stirs something in the pot, from the smell of it; it's probably spaghetti Bolognese tonight.

'Yeah. Got some work done, hung out with Scott for a bit -' Stiles cuts himself short, remembering how he couldn’t talk here, and sits himself down on his usual seat. He chews on a bread stick that Meredith must've bought earlier - crunchy.

'Had fun last night? You didn't come home.' Meredith moves on, her voice beginning to ring with annoyance. Stiles sighs and groans internally, another one of these conversations, it's always the same. She'd interrogate him until she's satisfied with his answer, then leave him be like nothing happened. She'd be especially venomous when Stiles talks back, it's not really his fault, and it’s just always been the way he talks.

'Yeah, haven't had much time to spend with Scott these past couple of weeks, I know I should've told you I wasn't coming back, but it was at such an ungodly hour, I -' Stiles starts.

'Shut up.' Meredith says, and Stiles shuts up immediately. He glances down to his empty plate with newfound interest. He traces circles on the plate mats, his heart rate jumping up slightly.

'How's that friend of yours, Stiles? Haven't seen him today. I'd have thought he'd at least drop by and check on you.' Meredith continues without hesitation, acting completely natural. Stiles stiffens. _Derek_.

'He's good, actually, I bumped into him today at the grocers', he was also there at the party last night, he's really cool. Oh man, I forgot to thank him -'

'Can you just shut up?' Meredith shouts, slamming the spoon on the stove.

‘Where’s dad?’ Stiles asks as innocently as he could. He really doesn’t prefer another dinner alone with Meredith, and if you ask him, he’d rather never have another meal alone with Meredith.

‘He’s at work. You know that.’ The annoying tinge in her voice is back, spelling it out for him like he’s stupid.

‘Do you know when he’s coming back? Maybe he’ll be back in time for dinner, or at least maybe I could see him before I go to bed? I never see him around anymore –‘

‘Well maybe if you decide to stay home, you might actually see him? But no, you’re always out partying and getting yourself drunk senseless. It’s not really a surprise that he’s coming back home less often now, taking up as many cases as he can. You’re never there to see him, since you’re always too busy elsewhere. You know, while I’m at it, I think you need to learn when to stop talking, it really surprises me how long your father puts up with you, he actually sounds _interested._ Then again, he’s never around anymore, is he?' Meredith motions her arm up and down Stiles body, indicating what she means,

 'I'm amazed you have any friends at all; with your _disease_ , it's really not helping your case. You're loud and obnoxious, and the funny part is you think people care. I'm sure Scott's only there for you because he doesn't have anyone either. He's taken you in out of pity, and to be frank, I'm surprised he's lasted this long. Just look at yourself, you're out of control, going out every night, completely irresponsible after your god damn mother died. No wonder your father comes home less and less.'

'Don't talk about my mother like that.' Stiles grits through his teeth, holding his tears back. He knew that she knew what she said had hit home. He won't show her any kind of weakness; she doesn't get that from him. He won’t give in.

'Oh, I'll talk about her any way I like, she's dead, remember?' Meredith snaps back, she sees Stiles eyes widen, and she pounces, 'She can't help you, Stiles. She's _dead,_ and she's probably glad she's gone if she knew she'd had to deal with the likes of you, you worthless freak of nature.' The corners of his vision were blurring, he could barely make out the words, but it was enough for him to understand. The anger boils in his veins, he steps forward, without thinking, and punches Meredith square in the face. She screams, one hand cradling her jaw. She bounces back up and slaps Stiles hard across the face, the redness showing immediately.

'Don't you dare talk about my mother like that; you don't know anything about her! You know, I'm somewhat glad you're here, it reassures me that I'm not a piece of shit despite what people say, because there's still you.' Stiles spits back at her, earning himself another slap.

'Get out! Get out of my house!' Meredith screams at him.

'It's not your house. It's never been your house, and it'll never be your house.' Stiles says, his voice cracking, but the sound was much louder and more confident that he was right now.

'No, you will leave, or I will bring your father back here and make him tell you how disappointed he is in you. You either leave now, or it’ll be your father that sends you out.' Meredith's voice was cold and sharp, sending shivers down his spine. He had no doubt that she meant every word she said. Stiles hesitates for as second, thinking about his choices and the decision he has to make. He grabs his phone, shoving it in the pocket of his sweatpants before stalking out and slamming the door behind him.

 

            He couldn’t have chosen a worse time to get out of the house, it was close to winter and the day was getting shorter. He walks out and the icy blast of air hits him, making the palm outline on his face sting even more. He pulls up his hood and shoves his hands back in his pockets. He grits his teeth to keep himself from shivering, the chill of the night, biting him. Tears sprung in his eyes and make its way down his rosy cheeks; his eyes are all puffy and red. It’s been years since he’s let himself cry so freely – he’s kept it together since then. Since the times where he’d rush home, lock himself in his room, bring out his mother’s clothes and bury his face in them, wetting them with his tears. Until one day, he realizes that her scent isn’t there any more, but instead, dried patches of tears and his smell lingers. It was the day he tucked them away and never looked back, picked himself up and moved on. At least that was the case until today.

 

            Stiles walks and walks, turning corners where he had to, look left and right where he must and it’s only when he reaches tall, black gates, that he realizes where his feet had brought him. He takes a deep, shuddering breath, before pushing the gate open and stepping in to the familiar place; the place where he spent most his time as a child. He closes his eyes and lets his feet take him, it’s a route he doesn’t even need to think about, he’s been there far too often. He runs his fingers on top of the head stones, feeling the smoothness of the graphite on the new ones, the chipped and charred on the older.

            He opens his eyes, and kneels down in front of the beautiful tombstone, his mother’s name engrave, worn away by sun and rain: ‘ _Helena Stilinski, For love is eternal, we shall meet again. A beautiful wife, a strong daughter, a loving mother.’_

Stiles knows these words off by heart, after many months and years tracing the words, letter by letter, memorizing them to recite as the last words on his lips before he fell asleep.

 

The tears fall uncontrollably; the drops hitting the dried grass more frequently, the back of his hands wiping his eyes more and more often. His sniffs grow louder and his throat closes up, his hands shaking. He closes his eyes, embracing the inevitable, a feeling that he’s felt far too many times before. He sits down, and rests his heads in his hands. He tries to breathe in and out, slowly and deeply, it’s a process he’s become accustomed to. His whole body shudders, his heart beat starts to slow down, his breathing becomes more and more controlled. He lets out a deep sigh.

‘I’m sorry, mom.’ Stiles chokes through the tears. He covers his eyes with his hands, and everything pours out. The stories about Meredith, about his father, about the school, and Scott, everything that she’s missed over the last couple of months that he couldn’t bring himself to come, feeling ashamed of himself at how his life turned out, at how he had refused to stand up for himself until now.

‘I miss you. I miss you so much, I wish you didn’t have to go, I wish you could’ve seen me when I got into first line, that I made you proud. I wish you could’ve seen me fall head over heels for Lydia, then made fun of me for liking a girl; telling me how ‘your baby is all grown up’. I wish everyone else knew what they have, and how much they take for granted. I miss you so much, mommy.’ Stiles cries into his hands, his whole body shaking.

 

He doesn’t know how long he’s been there, or if he’s only been there for a couple of minutes, but it feels like time has stopped and all there is, is his mom, himself and the dark sky, stretching over him. Something warm touches his shoulder, at first he thinks he just imagined it, but the warmth never leaves. He looks up and sees a tall figure, standing over him. He blinks away his tears that clouded his vision, and could make out a face in the darkness. The sharp angles of his cheeks immediately identified him, Stiles turned away, wiping his tears with the sleeve of his hoodie.

‘It’s a little late to be out here alone, isn’t it?’

‘Go away,’ Stiles mumbles, tugging his shoulder back. He feels the ground next to him drop, and a sigh. Stiles waits for him to say something, but there was only silence. He feels an arm wrap around his shoulders and tenses up. He feels the arm around him tense up as well, but remains firm on his shoulders. The hand rubs his shoulder, easing up the tension that was built. He hangs his head between his legs, but he could feel a smile warming up on his face.

 

‘So.’ Stiles looks up and stares blankly at his mother’s tombstone. He sniffs loudly, wipes a stray tear from his eye with the sleeve of his hoodie. He eyes traces each word, rereading it over.

‘What brings you here?’ Stiles asks hoarsely. Derek breathes in deeply, and exhales. Stiles waits expectantly for an answer, but he doesn’t get one. He turns his head and looks at Derek, _really_ look at him for the first time. The small details he never noticed before, like the small scar at the ridge of his left eyebrow, or the wrinkle from where the ghost of his dimples lay. He notices the bruised lips, the way his eyes are slightly more red than usual, and the dried tear paths down his cheeks.

‘Get up.’ Stiles says, pushing himself off the ground, and patting away all the dried leaves that hung on his clothes.

‘What?’ Derek snaps out of his trance, and looks up in disbelief.

‘I said, get up.’ Stiles repeats.

‘Yeah, I got that part. Why?’ Derek says, genuinely curious.

‘Just do it.’ Stiles sighs. Derek cautiously obeys, pushing himself slowly off the ground. He pats away all the grass that clings on his jeans, and stands hesitantly, looking at Stiles.

Stiles runs into him, his arms out wide, embracing Derek in a crushing hug. Derek lets out a grunt in surprise. Stiles pulls back slightly so he could see Derek’s face. He smiles goofily and says,

‘Just ‘cos we’re men doesn’t mean we can’t hug it out like men.’ Stiles grins.

‘You’re not a man, you’re still just a boy.’ Derek says as he pulls Stiles in for a tighter hug. He wraps his arms around Stiles waist, hooking his chin over Stiles’ shoulder.

‘You know, this is pretty nice.’ Derek admits after a couple of minutes of silence.

‘Yeah, who knew a big guy like you would be such a softie, giving in to hugs.’ Stiles laughs, Derek smiles as he could feel the warmth of Stiles’ torso vibrating against his.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> can you please tell me what you liked and what you didn't like, so i can incorporate more into the fic. I'm currently about halfway through the 5th chapter, so everything is still flexible!
> 
> all in all, thanks for reading and sticking with this fic. :) <3


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so remember what I said about it not being posted saturday - well I kinda finished it.. It's not as long as the others, I don't think, but I wanted it to be done asap, so here it is! i hope you guys enjoy it. :)

Chapter 5

 

The smell of eggs and coffee wafted through the air, waking Stiles up. He ruffles around the bed, pulling the blanket over his body as he rolls around, trying to go back to sleep. He stops dead in his tracks when he feels the sheets felt much rougher than they did at home – they felt new, even. He sits up and forces his eyes open. He drinks in the cream colored walls, the white outlines about a foot above the floor, the sunlight pouring in through the translucent white curtains and onto the dark hardwood floor. He looks down at the bed he was in, the matching wine colored duvet and bed sheets, crinkled. He notices he’s not in the clothes he was in the night before, but instead an old grey shirt and boxers. Definitely his own boxers. He’s sure there’s no one else that owns batman boxers.

 

He gets out of bed, notices a pair of black sweatpants folded on the chair beside the bed and smiles. He puts it on before opening the door and walks into the kitchen. He takes a step, his foot flinching against the cold floorboards. He takes another step, and another, softly and slowly along the hallway, before reaching an open room. The smell of coffee and breakfast was stronger now, his stomach growled hungrily. The room was big, the walls were painted white this time, and the hardwood floors were chocolate brown. The whole place was elegant, far more elegant than Stiles could imagine anyone he knew living in.

‘Morning, sunshine.’ Derek says, wiping his hands on a dishtowel as he walks through the doorway. Stiles’ head whips around, focusing on the grey wife beater that clung on every inch of skin. Stiles tore his eyes away, moving it up to Derek’s face, only to meet a smirk.

‘Hi.’ Stiles croaked, his cheeks turned bright red. He looked down on the spirals of the floor and cleared his throat, before trying again.

‘Um, so I don’t remember much of last night, I mean, apart from – yeah – um. That’s about it?’ Stiles stammered nervously.

‘You fell asleep.’ Derek said, throwing the dishtowel to the sink. Stiles cocked his head to the side.

‘Yeah, I got that part. Oh, and thanks for keeping my boxers on, you know, at least I know I still have some of my dignity left. You know, in some states, that’d be called statutory rape,’ Stiles snapped back. Derek rolled his eyes.

‘I’m sure you would’ve been willing,’ Derek replies. Stiles’ mouth drops open, and Derek chuckles.

‘You fell asleep and I brought you back here for the night.’

‘Thanks.’ Stiles said quietly and ducked his head. Derek nodded and went back into the kitchen. Stiles hesitated, before following him in. Derek turned around and placed two plates on the table, both with scrambled eggs, bacon and sausages steaming from the plate. Stiles stood by the doorway, unsure of what to do. Derek looked at Stiles, and nodded to the plates. Stiles looked at him questioningly, and gets a nod in return. Stiles bounces to the wooden table and dives in. Derek sits opposite him, eating in silence. It wasn’t a particularly awkward silence; it was kind of comfortable, peaceful even.

 

\--

 

John opens the door, and hangs his coat instinctively. His eye catches his wife, sitting on the black sofa with a pack of iced peas in one hand, cradling her swollen cheek.

‘Meredith! Oh, honey, what happened to you? Do I need to report this? You need to tell me everything, start from the beginning,’ John rushed over to her, kneeling by her, his hands everywhere.

‘It’s okay, no, shh. It’s okay,’ Meredith reassures, using her spare hand to rub John’s shoulders.

‘Who did this to you?’

‘You wouldn’t believe it if I said it.’ Meredith says, turning away.

‘You need to tell me.’ John says firmly. Meredith holds her breath, before breathing out and giving in to whatever internal battle she was fighting.

‘Stiles.’ She casts her eyes downwards, to the carpeted floor. John’s face went purple, furious at such an accusation.

‘How  _dare_ you accuse my son of such a thing.’ John yelled.

‘John, listen to me. Why would I lie?’ Meredith kept her voice even. For a moment, John remains furious, ready to attack, but suddenly, his face fell, his shoulders slumped, realizing that it really could be his son.

‘Why.. I don’t understand it. Stiles wouldn’t..’ John trailed off, shaking his head. He drops down to sit beside Meredith.

‘Here, let me have a look.’

 

\--

 

Stiles finds himself wrapped up in a warm, faded grey blanket on the floor, his back leaning against the couch. Derek was sitting next to him, his arms wrapped around his legs, his eyes gazing intently at Stiles.

‘She thought he let me get out of hand, you know. Out of control, like I was some animal that needs to stay tamed. I’m kinda glad you never had to meet me before her, she told me, I was a freak. And sometimes, I believe her. I just. What she says, it’s been said so many times, I just. I have no other choice than to believe it. I know I’m not great, I’m not someone with the best personality out there, or the greatest looking guy, with good grades and athletic, hell, I’m not even  _good_. I’m just a kid – that lost his mom too young.’ Stiles’ voice cracks at the last sentence, tears breaking the seam, running fiercely down his cheeks. He squeezes his eyes shut, blinking the tears away.

‘I’m sorry.’ Stiles pauses, ‘I’m sorry for causing so much trouble, and that it must suck for you to have to spend your free time with a kid like me.’ Stiles breathed out, shaking. Derek held his ground, uncertain of what to do. He remains his gaze on Stiles, almost willing him to look back up and into his eyes. Stiles looks up and holds his gaze.

‘But thank you.’ Stiles whispers, ‘for not taking me back there.’

Derek tears away from his stare and looks over to the TV.

‘It’s what friends do.’ He mumbled back. Stiles smiled softly and wiped away his tears. He shook off his blanket and jumped onto Derek, tackling him to the ground. Derek let out a grunt in surprise. Stiles wrapped his arms around Derek and hugged him tight.

 

Stiles phone started ringing, snapping them both out of their own world.

‘Dad?’

‘It’s good to hear from you, son.’

‘I’m sor-‘

‘Don’t apologize if you’re not going to mean it.’ Stiles remains silent, waiting for his dad to continue.

‘You should come back home.’

‘Are you home?’

‘Yes.’

‘Wow, what’s the special occasion?’ Stiles says bitterly.

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Nothing,’ Stiles mumbles and hung up. He threw his phone behind him, bouncing it on the couch and let out a long sigh. He runs his hand through his hair and brings it back, rubbing his face. He brings the blanket back around his shoulders and hangs his head between his knees. Derek sits there, his hand hovering above Stiles’ back, unsure of whether to pat it, rub it, or not do anything. He’s not used to being close with people, for most of his life he’d be solitary. He had Laura, but a mistake of him letting people in had cost him her life. He knows that Stiles isn’t like her, and never will be like her. Stiles isn’t perfect, he knows that, but when he’s around Stiles, he feels more complete; like life is worth living again. It’s not so much for himself, but he feels like now that he’s found Stiles, it’s his job to help him back up on his two feet; to be the one to patch Stiles back up and be whole again. It’s ambitious, but for Stiles, he’s willing to do it.

 

\--

 

John slams the phone down on the table and buries his face in his hands. A pair of hands grabs his shoulders, startling him, before soothing into a massage. He sighs and looks up to Meredith with a warm smile. Meredith, her cheek red and swollen, smiles back. John lifts one of her hands and kisses it gently.

‘I’m sorry, Stiles usually would never have done this. He’s a good kid, I just don’t know what’s gotten into him.’ John apologizes.

‘It’s alright, honey.’ Meredith comforts, releasing her hand from John’s hold and sliding them down his chest into a hug.

‘We’ll get through this.’ She whispers in his ears and kisses his cheek.

 

John rests his head between his thumbs, his elbows on the table. He lets out a sigh, and Meredith walks away. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, it’s not like he’s ever done this before. Sure, if Helena was still here, maybe she could help him. Stiles wasn’t the kind of kid to go round punching people, let alone Meredith. He was sure that he had chosen the right person to step up to the role, he was sure that Stiles liked Meredith enough. He reached for his phone, pressing the small button on the top left, making the lock screen shine up. A picture of him and Stiles, when Stiles was barely 10, clinging onto his back and laughing shows up. The picture made his heart clench, made him realize how much things had changed between them, how he was never home anymore; how  _Stiles_  was never home anymore. His finger hovered above the call button, contemplating on calling Stiles.

 

Stiles never came home that day; even after the countless voicemails his dad left him, the messages sounding more and more worried each time. He plays them over, listening to them, but after every message, he throws his phone back on the couch, away from him and carries on watching movies.

 

Derek puts out a plate of lasagna and a glass of water on the small table next to the couch, but it remains untouched and goes cold. Behind Stiles’ back, something he’ll never see, Derek frowns at him. He knows that he doesn’t know Stiles very well, only just that he comes into the bar every weekend and gets drunk senseless. He only just found out that the reason for Stiles getting drunk senseless is because of his father and the woman who calls herself a  _mother_ , but what he’d never guess from Stiles, is him being a kid to  _not eat._ He doesn’t know if this is normal for Stiles, or if it’s just something he goes through, but whichever one it happens to be, he’s worried.

 

It’s weird. It’s becoming more and more often that he feels something for Stiles, a kid he barely knows, and brought together by just the fact that they hang out in the same place on lonely Friday and Saturday nights. These moments, the ones where he feels like there’s more than just what’s on the surface, it clings onto him, to his very core.

‘You wanna go out for dinner?’ Derek asks, putting a grey t-shirt on.

‘You askin’ me out?’ Stiles winks at Derek, taking a sip of water.

 _Well at least he’s in a good mood, isn’t he,_ Derek thinks to himself.

‘Depends if you’re interested.’ Derek plays along, part of him is curious as to how this will turn out.

Stiles chokes on his water, spluttering everywhere. He wipes his mouth clean with his arm, and looks at Derek.

‘You think you can handle a hot guy like me?’ Stiles teases back.

‘Sure, why the hell not?’ Derek shrugs, and grabs his coat. He walks over to the door and pulls it open.

‘Well?’ Derek says, huffing impatiently, ‘This date offer isn’t going to last all night.’

Stiles shoots up, nearly knocking over everything over within a meter radius, trips over his own foot, managing to grab the arm rest to stop himself from face planting onto the ground. 

‘Oh, we’ll have fun tonight.’ Stiles giggles and bounces out of the house.

 

\--

 

John spins his phone on his fingers; his glass of whiskey was empty, identical to the bottle next to it. It was normal for Stiles not to come home for a night, but two nights? Two nights was far longer than Stiles had ever been away without telling him about it. He rarely had a fight this size with Stiles, the kind that would make Stiles feel uncomfortable coming home.

 

Upstairs, Stiles swiftly picks the lock of his window open and slides it up as quietly as he could, wincing when it creaked. The damned old thing. He slips one leg over the open window, he catches his leg on the edge of the window and lands with a thump on the floor. He quickly straightens up, grabs a change of clothes, his laptop and a phone charger before rushing back out. As he swings his leg over the window ledge, he takes a look at his room, his bed was made – identical to how he left it the last time he slept in it. The shadows cast on his room by the moon and the streetlamps made it eerie, he’s never really given it much notice before. He shakes his head, and slips back out of the window before jumping back on the patch of grass adjacent to his house, and runs off, projecting long shadows beneath the yellow street lamps.

 

John hears the door click open, and snaps his head up. Meredith walks in with a couple of plastics bags, filled with groceries. He gets up to help her put the things away but she touches his arm gently and nods to the direction of the couch.

‘Don’t worry about it. I’ll make you dinner.’  She kisses him on the cheek and walks to the kitchen.

 

\--

 

‘So how long do you plan on staying here?’ Derek asks as Stiles comes out of the shower with only a towel wrapped around his waist.

‘Uh, this’ll probably be my last night, if you don’t mind me staying of course. I can totally go and stay with Scott if you want.’ Stiles says as he looks up from drying his hair. Didn’t take much time for it to dry, since, you know, there’s not much on there.

He looks at Derek, and watches him. Derek’s eyes slowly tracing every line on his torso, lingering at each and every muscle before meeting his eyes at long last. Stiles sucks in his breath, his hands shaking with antipication. Derek starts to walk closer, taking each step slowly and hesitantly. Stiles’ body froze, Derek stops and turns his head, afraid that he made the wrong move. That maybe Stiles didn't want this. Stiles walks towards him, his heart beating faster and faster, his pace quickening, trying to match the beat of his heart.

'Derek.' Stiles says, his voice hoarse. Derek turns his head back around and sees Stiles standing before him, the smell of shampoo wafting from his hair, his body still moist from the shower. Derek’s arm slid around his waist, the other cupping the back of his head. Stiles looks into his eyes, holding his gaze, his lips parting slightly.

‘Stay.’ Derek whispers before closing the gap between their lips.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and I'm just here to warn you that Chapter 6 may not be out in time for next Saturday, but I'll definitely try to finish it by then. Thanks for reading and sticking with me through this! <3


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i think i finally know where the name Meredith popped up - the evil bitch from Parent's Trap haha, just a fun fact i thought i'd share. :)   
> anyways, this chapter is out a day early because i'll be on the plane throughout saturday and sunday, so i won't get to post it. anyways, enjoy!

Chapter 6

 

The night breeze was warm, making the curtains dance through the open window. The moonlight shone on the hard wood floor, creating a silver pathway. The dark, satin sheets were crumpled, drawing intricate patterns – new ones, the kind that’s only made when there is more than just one on the bed. The blankets - hugging and protecting the two bodies, entangled in each other, merging into one.  It’s a beginning, the first time for this room to experience this feeling, a feeling of content; that the two beings were happy with what they have, nothing more, nothing less.

 

Derek’s arm drooped over Stiles’ naked waist, his fingers intertwined with Stiles’. His leg slid in between Stiles’, tangling them in each other. His breath was shallow against Stiles’ ear, matching the slightly uneven rhythm of Stiles’ heart, his chest rising and falling against his bare back. Stiles snored softly, corrupting the silence that had built around them.

 

Stiles stirs slightly from his sleep, breaking the spell of the room. Derek’s senses spikes up as Stiles’ heart rate increases, becoming aware of what was happening. He opens his eyes, just enough to see what was going on as it adjusted to the darkness. Stiles rolls around onto the other side so their bodies faced each other. He pressed his arms up against his chest, being the only barrier between him and Derek. His forehead rests on Derek’s shoulder, his breath moist against his skin. He slides his legs back in between Derek’s and gives in to sleep, feeling safe and secure for the first time in a very long time. Derek pulls Stiles in closer, partly to keep Stiles warm, partly just because he can. He smiles at the thought of having Stiles like this and presses a kiss against Stiles’ forehead and falls back asleep to the rhythm of Stiles’ heart.

 

 

\--

 

John didn’t sleep that night. He closed his eyes, tossed and turned in bed, hoping to get some shuteye, but the worry nagged his very core. Next to him, Meredith slept peacefully – completely unaware of the uneasiness travelling up and down John’s body. He lost count of the amount of times he stood up and went down stairs for a glass of whiskey to help him in to bed, he’d feel drowsy and ready to sleep, but the worry harassed him back awake.

 

He checked his phone constantly, hoping and praying that by some miracle in between in conscience state, that he missed a phone call from Stiles and he’d have to call back. Unfortunately for him, each and every time he checked it, his heart sunk as the screen flashed up to no new messages or missed calls.

 

He sat on his bed, unable to remain still for much longer than 5 minutes. He tried, he tried to read a book, to listen in to the police radio, but there was no case and the book was boring. He could do nothing but pace up and down his room, watching the clock tick.

 

When he felt like he couldn’t handle the utter silence of the night and the constant worry for much longer, his alarm rang for 5AM. He gets up and rewards himself with a long and warm shower after a long night. At least he has work to occupy his thoughts instead of Stiles now that the day has begun, but he has a feeling that this wasn’t going to be the case.

 

He made a promise to himself as he drove off that if Stiles didn’t come back tonight, he’d call in and made sure the police had a hand in this.

 

\--

 

‘Dude, you look different.’ Scott greeted.

‘Yeah?’ Stiles grinned goofily.

‘What happened? Lydia remembered your name?’ Scott joked and nudged Stiles.

‘Nah, I don’t think she even knows I exist, but I’ll continue to show my undying love for her anyway.’ Stiles joked as he pulled out his books for his next class.

‘Good luck with that man, Jackson ain’t giving her up easy.’

‘Yeah, right, I’m so much better than Jackson; I mean, come on. Look at me. I’m hot.’ Scott guffawed, and Stiles whacked him in the head before doubling over.

 

Economics was a joy. Really. No sarcasm there, Stiles promises. To watch Finstock make a fool out of himself with his speeches and any other student that tried to be a smart ass was an absolute joy. Especially the pleasure it gave him when Finstock called Jackson a dumbass. Little pleasures.

 

However, what was great? Lunch. Stiles admits, it isn’t really the greatest lunch in America, but he’ll take what he can get. Scott and Allison were great, really, they were, when they weren’t sucking face, they actually make a pretty good back up team. He can’t help it; he’s the only one with brains in this crew.

 

He drops his lunch tray on the table and crawls into the space between the table and the bench. Seriously, they need to invest in this stuff, they weren’t primary kids anymore, their legs aren’t small enough to fit in the hole.

‘Sup, Dannyboy.’ Stiles nods. Danny just rolls his eyes and bites into his apple.

‘Kinky.’ Stiles winks.

‘O-kay. Ignore me then, guess I’m just not your type eh.’ Stiles nudges Danny. It was a tradition, every time that Stiles sat down next to Danny, or vice versa, harmless flirting would ensue. Some days, if Danny was feeling up to it, he’d flirt back just to see the look on Stiles’ face. Priceless.

 

Stiles attention was refocused when he sees Scott walking up to the table with none other than Allison.

‘Dude, I need to come over to your place tonight.’ Stiles says as Scott puts his tray down opposite him.

‘Uh, can’t dude.’ Scott replies, nodding to Allison’s direction. She offers him a smile. He can’t help but smile back, as much as he doesn’t like her right now, you can’t just say no to a smile like that.

‘When are we gonna get some bro time if you’re too busy sucking face?’ Stiles yells, throwing an accusing look. Scott pulls a hurt look that breaks Stiles’ fake accusing look and sends him laughing.

‘’ey , Speaking of. Your dad called my mom and said to ask where you were and stuff cos you never went home. What’s up with that, dude?’ Scott says. Stiles looks down on his tray, and chews on his fries.

‘Nothing man.’ Stiles shrugs off.

‘You free tomorrow?’ Stiles says, changing the subject. Scott gives him a look.

‘Come on dude, you always tell me everything. Where were you last night?’

‘Uh. In a place where you don’t really want to know about, and I don’t really want to tell you about either, so if I don’t want to tell you and you don’t want to know, I don’t have to tell you right?’ Scott gives Stiles a blank look, and Stiles pulls a mental victory dance. Confusing Scott was so easy, like stealing a toffee from a child.

‘Okay man, you lost me. Is everything okay?’

‘Yeah, why wouldn’t it be?’ Stiles chews violently on his fries. He doesn’t like where this conversation is going, and he’s willing to leave the lunch table if it continues.

‘You’re just acting weird about it, my mom keeps asking where you are all the time.’

‘I’m fine, alright? A guy just needs some privacy sometimes. I _can_ do that, right? I mean, do I need to ask for your permission? It’s a free country for God’s sake. Don’t know why you keep bringing it up.’ Stiles explodes, the whole cafeteria turns to looks at him. He gets up and walks out.

 

\--

 

Scott throws himself between Stiles and his locker before getting changed for practice, causing enough trouble for Stiles to make an annoyed whine.

‘Dude! Don’t dent my locker.’

‘What’s up with you today man?’ Scott ignores Stiles and pushes the unfinished conversation from lunch further.

‘Nothing, just leave it.’ Stiles says pushing Scott aside.

‘No, I won’t just _leave it._ You’re my best friend; I can’t just stop and _leave_ it man. Since when do you not tell me everything?’

‘Who says I’m not telling you everything?’

‘Well this is something and you’re not telling me.’

‘It’s not big deal all right? Just drop it.’ Stiles shoves Scott aside and opens his locker. Scott lingers around for a couple of seconds, before thinking against what ever he was about to do and goes to change.

 

Stiles lands on the grass with a loud thud, wincing at the sharp ache that exploded in his back. He wasn’t in the mood to take Jackson on. What happened to today being such a good day? He’d left Derek’s feeling happy, Derek even kissed him goodbye. That’s got to count for something, since, you know, Derek isn’t exactly the type of guy you would think to give out goodbye kisses. He hates how Scott keeps pressing on the topic, and how Jackson seems to have taken double dosage of douchebaggery today. He’s often taken for granted the fact that Scott’s too far up Allison’s ass – oh Lord the imagery, Stiles takes that back – and how Scott would just _not_ notice the small things.

 

\--

 

Meredith was still working at the hospital when John came back home. The house was empty and silent. He never thought he’d miss the music vibrating through walls when he’d come home and has to yell up to Stiles to turn the volume down. He sits down on the kitchen stool and pours himself another glass of whiskey. The work he brought home was spread across the wooden table; he’d thought bringing the work back would be a good idea. Maybe he’d be here when Stiles gets back, but he doubts it since it was getting late. He considers calling it in as a Missing Persons, but he thought against it and decided to wait another hour.

‘How many glasses have you had?’ A voice behind him whispers, catching him off guard. He turns around to see a pale face, a face he hadn’t seen in days, opening his mouth to say something. He rehearsed this speech throughout the entire day, planning what he would say when he saw Stiles again, but he was speechless.

‘It isn’t good for your health, you know.’ Stiles says and starts to pick up the bottle of whiskey to put it away. John lays his and on his arm to stop him. Stiles looks at him, and John pulls his son into a hug.

‘I’m sorry.’ Stiles whispers in his ear.

‘Me too, son, me too.’ John says and releases him.

‘Now do you want to tell me what happened?’ Stiles nods and takes the seat opposite him.

John stares at him, encouraging him to speak, but Stiles never makes eye contact. His leg bounces, and his thumbs twitch.

‘What if I told you Meredith isn’t who you think she is.’

‘Come on, Stiles.’ John shakes his head disapprovingly.

‘That’s exactly it, dad. You refuse to acknowledge that maybe this woman isn’t as great as you think she is. She’s only acting sweet when you’re around, but when you’re not, she treats me like trash.’

‘This isn’t a fairytale, son, wicked step mothers aren’t real.’ Stiles sighs.

‘You know, this is it. You don’t believe me because you’ve never seen it before. I’m guessing she told you that I hit her and made up some story about how I’m an untamed child? Well guess what, she was talking about mom. She was talking about how mom is useless because she’s dead.’ Stiles continues, his voice getting quieter and quieter. John’s eyes widen.

‘Why would you say something like that? Meredith wouldn’t do something like that.’ John stands up, his voice raising. Stiles stands up too, to level with John.

‘I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to hurt you, dad. You were so happy, and I didn’t want to be the one to ruin that. But if you don’t want to believe me then I understand, but I can’t stay here any longer.’ Stiles pushes himself from the table and leaves.

‘Stiles!’ His dad calls after him, but he didn’t stop. John turns around and chases after him, he’s lost Stiles for 3 days, he isn’t going to lose him again after such a short time.

‘Son, listen to me.’ John grabs Stiles’ arm and swings him forward.

‘I only want the best for you, I’m sorry you’ve had to feel this way, to push yourself to the extent where you don’t feel comfortable being at home anymore..’ John starts, Stiles’ eyes were tired and ready to give in. He didn’t want anything more than to collapse in his dad’s arms and pretend like he was a child again. But he didn’t have much of a choice but to stand firm, as much as he didn’t want to see his dad hurt like this, he had to.

‘I can’t do it, dad. I’m sorry.’ Stiles tugs free and leaves.

‘Son! Stay. We’ll figure it out.’ John pleads, and it was at this moment that Stiles stops dead in his tracks. It was either that he turns around, or to keep going and never look back. John wants to plead and beg for him to stay, that he’s lost Helena; he can’t lose Stiles too. But he says nothing. The deafening silence hung between them, screaming into Stiles’ ears, telling him to keep walking.

‘What are you going to do?’ Stiles says hopelessly. Stiles waits for an answer, something, _anything,_ but John remains silent. Stiles swallows and nods, accepting that this is it, the answer he didn’t have to hear to understand. The realization that John would choose – had already chosen - Meredith over him.

 

He takes two steps to the door, and opens it. John’s heart sinks as Stiles steps outside, slamming the door shut behind him.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and here we go! i hope you guys liked it! feedback and everything is welcomed, also remember that the story line isn't solid, and i'm making it up as i go. i'm sorry if it sounds unprofessional, but i'm just saying that any ideas would be welcomed. :)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> helloo! 
> 
> so i felt really guilty that i couldn't update the chapter yesterday, so i worked my ass off and finally got it in time for sunday night!
> 
> as promised, it's longer than the rest, and i really hope you enjoy this fic!
> 
> there are two ways that this fic could go, as of right now, and i'm still contemplating. but either way, it'll probably end soon, so i'd just like to thank everyone for sticking without me through out and my horrible sense of punctuality.

Chapter 7

 

He subconsciously kicks the small rocks and sand beneath him as he swings his legs causing the swing to rock gently, gathering dust around him. Every time his thoughts ran back to replay the events that recently happened, he huffs and scrunches up his face.

 

His mother used to bring him to these swings, he’d always sit on this one, the yellow one, while his mom would sit on the red one next to him. She’d tell him stories about how she met his dad, or how her day went. Sometimes she would stand behind his swing and push him so he’d go higher and higher, until he felt like he was flying.

 

He didn’t know what to do, he knew he couldn’t go back there, not after what his father had done to him. He really didn’t want to go to Scott, that meant he’d have to explain himself, and he’d much rather keep this to himself than drag Scott into this. As much as he loves Scott, Scott was useless at problems like this and would most likely make him feel worse.

 

There was another option, to go to Derek’s place. Truth be told, he’d thought about going there, but after spending many nights and feeding off Derek’s supplies, he felt it wouldn’t be right to bother Derek again. Besides, they were barely even friends.. right? He still didn’t know what to think of what had happened the night before. What he does know is he’d been thinking far too much lately, and it probably wasn’t that healthy for him.

 

**Stiles:** _Are you working tonight?_

 

Stiles bites his lip as he fires off a text. He really didn’t want to rely on him, but he didn’t really have a choice.

 

**Derek:** _Not tonight. Erica’s taking my shift. Do you need anything?_

**Stiles:** _Are you at home?_

**Derek:** _Yeah, come over if you want._

Stiles chews on the inside of his cheek, the invitation was right there, waiting for him to accept it. He didn’t like to be dependent on people, especially when it didn’t include them. He shoves his phone back in his hoodie pocket and makes his way to Derek’s place.

 

The doorbell rings and Derek jumps over to open it. He finds Stiles standing awkwardly in front of him, his eyes cast on the floor.

‘Hey.’ Derek starts.

‘Look, I’m sorry to be back, but me and my dad..’

‘No no, it’s fine,’ Derek says, scratching the back of his neck nervously and steps aside. Stiles shuffles in, still unsure of what he should be doing.

‘So, dinner?’ Derek offers, Stiles doesn’t say anything, but nods slightly. Derek makes his way to the kitchen to heat up some of the Chinese leftovers he had earlier today. Stiles makes his way to the kitchen table, and sits down. He picks up the fork and plays with the rice before he takes his first bite. Derek leans against the stove and watches Stiles with his arms crossed, he eyebrows furrowed. Surely it wasn’t normal for a kid not to be home this often, but what would he know? He’s not a teenager anymore, but he’s pretty sure times couldn’t have changed that quickly.

‘Are you staying the night?’ Derek asks, Stiles looks at him with question in his eyes, almost pleading.

‘I’m sorry,’ Stiles says quietly – completely going against the Stiles Derek knew from the bar.

‘Nothing to be sorry for. You know where everything is, right?’ Stiles nods and finishes up. Derek shuffles towards him as Stiles throws the paper cans in the bin. He hesitates as he reaches Stiles, being only a couple of inches away from him. Stiles’ could feel the heat of Derek’s breath on his shoulders, and his heart races. Unexpectedly, Derek wraps his strong arms around Stiles waist, and Stiles sucks in a breath of surprise. Derek nuzzles the crook of Stiles’ neck and murmurs,

‘Just because we’re men, doesn’t mean we can’t hug it out,’ and presses a soft kiss on Stiles’ neck. Stiles smiles, genuinely, and flips himself around, so he’s facing Derek. The strength in the hug surprises Derek, he didn’t think Stiles was that strong, but then again, Stiles was desperate.

 

Stiles pulls out slightly, only enough for them to make eye contact. He cups Derek’s face, feeling the rough stubble against his hands.

‘Thank you,’ he murmurs, before pressing his soft lips against Derek’s. He pulls back far too quickly for Derek’s liking, and he lets out a small whine.

‘Is this okay?’ Stiles asks, looking into his eyes. Derek nods and closes the gap between them, kissing him softly and slowly. He feels Stiles pulls his waist in closer, gripping his back as he parts his mouth slightly. Derek nips the bottom of his lips and licks it, causing Stiles to whimper into the kiss. Derek moves him, and presses him against the stove, deepening the kiss. His hands run up Stiles’ shirt, his warm, rough hands stroking the soft skin. Stiles gasps.

 

Derek pulls away and looks into his eyes, his thumb stroking lightly on Stiles’ cheek.

‘You know you’re welcome here any time, right?’ Stiles casts his eyes on Derek’s chest, his fingers tapping and playing with the shirt, he nods. Derek takes a step back and takes Stiles’ hand, and makes his way into the bedroom.

 

\--

 

Stiles groans as he turns around to shut the alarm. He checks the time, to see he’s still got time before going to school. He rolls back over to see Derek’s green-blue eyes staring into him. He presses a soft kiss against his lips.

‘Ew, you have morning breath,’ Stiles jokes as he kisses Derek again, Derek chuckles and grabs Stiles by the waist, bringing him on top of him in one movement. Stiles squeaks.

‘I guess school can wait?’ Stiles teases, kissing Derek’s nose, and laughs when Derek twitches his nose and sneezes.

‘Who knew you could be cute too, Derek Hale?’

‘I’m not cute.’

‘Right, because you’re too hot and buff to be cute.’ Stiles pauses, ‘Like me.’ Stiles kisses him one more time before pressing his hands against Derek’s shirt to get out of bed, only to be pulled back into a kiss, Derek grazes his teeth along Stiles’ bottom lip, licking it over and over, causing Stiles to moan into him. Reluctantly, Stiles breaks away, and looks at Derek.

‘If you keep doing that, I’m going to be late,’

 

\--

 

Stiles was 10 minutes late to class.

 

‘Dude, what the hell?’ Scott spins around on his chair to face Stiles.

‘Sorry man,’

‘Where were you last night? Your dad called my mom again. Seriously, even I didn’t even know where you were.’ Scott hisses, with a touch of worry. Stiles shrugs in response, he didn’t want anyone to know about Derek yet. Come to think of it, he didn’t want anyone to know about his life right now, not even Scott. That was saying something.

‘McCall, I’m sure you had a great time with Bilinski last night, but you listen to me, or I’ll fail you,’ Finstock shouts, earning himself a couple of sniggers around the class.

‘Yes, sir,’ Scott replies, turning back around, the conversation forgotten.

 

When he got the lunch table, everyone was already there. He clumsily makes sits himself on the bench and starts eating without saying anything, earning himself a couple of weird looks.

‘Dude, you alright?’ Scott asks him, completely confused at this point.

‘Yeah, fine,’ Stiles shrugs off, biting into his burger.

‘No, seriously man, what the hell is up?’

‘I’m just tired.’

 

\--

 

Stiles rushes out of class before Scott – or anyone – could catch up with him and heads straight for the boys’ locker room. He throws his bag into his locker and grabs his uniform. He changes quickly, avoiding and ignoring the small trail of players slowing coming in through the door. He winces at the smell of his uniform – not washing it for a month was definitely not a good idea. Although, he had a legitimate reason, and that reason was Meredith.

 

He grabs his stick and jogs out into the field, running laps before Finstock got there. Now, on an ordinary day, when he life wasn’t this crappy – it’s _never_ been this crappy – he wouldn’t run laps if his life depended on it. But hey, desperate people do desperate things.

 

He warms up, shooting balls into the goals – it was easy enough without the keepers in there. Hell, if he didn’t get a shot in, he’d be surprised how he got in the team in the first place. To be honest with everyone, he wasn’t a bad player. He’s sure Coach knows that, he’s not horrible. There were just people who were miles better, and he’s willing to admit that. He’s not the worse on the team – he’ll admit that proudly – but he’s not exactly match material. It doesn’t make him love lacrosse any less.

 

The weather was nice for the match today; they’re up against a pretty big team. The sky was a little grey, with a threat of heavy rain, but it was nice nonetheless. The cloud hung above him, not letting a single streak of sunlight through. The breeze was cold, but it was comfortable, it’d be nice to have the breeze blowing on the pitch. It’d be dark soon, then the flood lights would fill up the entire pitch – bleachers a long with it.

 

The rest of the team slowly dribbles out onto the field in groups of two or three, lost in their own conversations. Finstock came out and gave Stiles a weird look, but decided against shouting whatever remark he was about to.

 

‘Everyone, hustle in!’ The sound of boots and mud followed.

‘In less than an hour, aircraft from here will join others from around the world. And you will be launching the largest aerial battle in the history of mankind.

We are fighting for our right to live.

But as the day the world declared in one voice.

We will not go quietly into the night!

Today we celebrate our Independence Day!’

 

And they roar and cheer. Today is going to be their day.

 

\--

 

The players fall, one by one, injury after injury. It was like a disease, player by player, heaved away from the pitch. Finstock was getting more and more stressed, and trust this, Bobby Finstock stressed is not good.

 

Stiles should be happy, really, to be finally put on the pitch, after years of dedication. He really wasn’t feeling the excitement. To be frank, he would much rather sit this one out, he’s quite happy on the bench, thank you very much. Regardless of what he wants, he gets called up and on to the pitch he goes.

 

The rain starts falling, soft, sweet drops at first. It was a nice addition to the cold evening, and the warm lights that flooded the pitch. It wasn’t ideal weather though. Soon enough, the soft raindrops turned into heavy, thunderous rain. Not particularly ideal either.

 

The whistle blows; it’s game time.

 

\--

 

 

There’s a sharp pain, throbbing in his leg, but he can’t quite reach it no matter how hard he tries. His whole body burns from the inside, like the very element of pain runs in his veins. He can’t control limbs no matter how loud he screams, wanting them to obey, but then again, whether he actually screams or if it’s just him lost in his mind, he doesn’t know. He could hear a constant beat, drumming against his ears. There were muffled voices, but he can’t quite make out what the words were, like a buzz he can’t quite get rid of. It was then that he realized he couldn’t see, he was relying on all of his other senses, and everything around him was pitch black.

 

Finally, after long and exhausting hours – minutes? – of trying and trying to get his body to obey him, he feels his nerves jolt at the movement of his fingers. He hears the quick shuffling of movements coming near him, and feels his bed dip near his hip. A warm hand rests on his forehead, and there was something being said to him. He can’t quite make out what was being said, as if it was a different language, something above his understanding.

 

Slowly, oh, so painfully slowly, the words starting becoming more and more clear, he could pick up traces of words, being dropped by two different people, words like ‘wake up,’ ‘injury,’ ‘could’ve been worse.’

 

A woman. A woman and a man, he thinks. The woman he knows, and he feels his stomach clench in an uncomfortable manner. His heart sank, realizing that his father wasn’t here. Maybe he is, maybe he’s just sitting in the room and hadn’t spoken, but something in his mind nags him, bullies him, baring the truth that his dad really wasn’t here.

 

‘Water,’ he croaks, causing silence to hush in the room.

‘Anything for you, son,’ he hears as a reply, and shock shudders through him. Was that really his dad? The realization that dawns him, he’s been without his father for so long, he couldn’t even remember his voice at a time like this. A voice that should be stuck deep in his consciousness, but he couldn’t remember the identity of the voice that taught him how to live. They’ve been apart for far too long, and it hurts.

‘Thanks, dad,’ He croaks, before throwing himself into a coughing fit. He peeks his eyes open, trying to get his eyes to adjust to the blearing light in the room. He recognizes the smell – a hospital.

 

He recalls what had happened to him – only flashes of it. He remembers getting on to the pitch, the roar of the crowd was deafening. The one time he’s on the pitch, his father isn’t here to see him. He doesn’t have someone to look up to on the bleachers and have a face smiling down at him.

 

He remembers catching the ball with his stick, and passing it to Scott.

He remembers watching the ball come towards him on the ground, and picking it up with his stick.

He remembers falling.

He remembers hitting the grass, hearing his bone crack and pain searing up his calf.

He remembers a heavy weight lying on top of him.

He remembers the edges of his vision blurring, and then nothing at all.

 

‘Son? Stiles? Stiles!’ He shakes out of his memory, and looks at his dad’s face, the worry in his eyes, the age in his face. He takes the plastic cup from his dad’s hand with both hands, and takes a drink, before clearing his throat.

‘I’m sorry, dad,’ Stiles says quietly.

‘Stiles, look at me. It’s okay. Look, son. I’m. I’m sorry too,’ John says as he scratches the back of his neck nervously.

‘Why did you do it?’

‘What?’

‘Marry her,’ Stiles looks over at Meredith, and matching her green gaze with his own brown eyes. He needs to know, he desperately needs to know.

John remains silent.

Stiles sucks in a deep breath, before plucking up the courage to look his father in the eye. For a moment, he’s lost for words. Funny that, Stiles Stilinski is speechless. What he wants to say, he can’t quite place it in words. Everything he’s wanted to tell his dad, and right now, he’s given the opportunity. Instead, his mind goes blank, and all his thoughts that he’s kept to himself don’t make an appearance.

‘I need you back home, dad,’ Stiles says at last, looking away, losing all the confidence he had before. He sees Meredith smirk in the corner of his eye.

 

‘What, you’re just going to stand there and smirk? Do you want to say, I told you so, or would that not be enough for you?’ Stiles snaps at her, John’s eyes widen.

‘Don’t talk to her like that,’

‘Right, because she’s what you want, and I never was? I love you, dad, I really do. And I’m sorry I’m not good enough because I’m just a kid with ADHD – _pathetic_ and _troublesome_ ,’   Stiles retorts, immediately regretting what he said when he sees the look on John’s face.

‘Stiles,’ Stiles knows that tone, that one tone that his dad always uses when he’s too tired to argue with Stiles and warns him not to press the issue further. It’s also the tone he uses when he’s trying to say he’s sorry, but he doesn’t really know how.

‘This is what I’m talking about, John, the way he speaks to me,’ Meredith says, cracking the silence in the room.

‘Shut up, Meredith,’

‘Stiles,’ that tone again, the warning tone. He hates it, so much.

‘Just stop defending her, she’s not as great as you think she is, dad,’ Stiles says, frustrated, ‘You know what? My _life_ would be better without you,’

‘You don’t mean that, Stiles,’ John says, glancing nervously at Meredith.

‘Dad, I do. You don’t understand,’ Stiles says, looking away.

‘Stop acting like a child, Stiles,’ Meredith snorts, crossing her arms over her chest.

Stiles doesn’t say anything, it’s not like he can with his dad in the room. He’s hurt his dad more than enough, and he really doesn’t want to put him back where he was before with his mom died. He doesn’t need that for him, and he may be pathetic, but he’s not going to willingly crush his dad.

‘She makes my life a living hell, I don’t even know why I should stay at home anymore – maybe it’d be easier if I just left altogether, if you’d just _let_ me,’ Stiles pauses, ‘I wouldn’t be a burden on your shoulder either,’ he adds ever so softly, only a hint of a whisper, but it was loud enough for his father to hear it, and definitely loud enough to knock John off his feet, only now realizing that this is how his son felt. Never knowing after all these months of not being home, not being what a _father_ should be.

‘I love you, Stiles,’ John says, not knowing what to say _other_ than that, really.

‘Yeah, you too,’ Stiles says softly.

‘Yeah, right, Stiles, you’re never home, you never help out with the chores, or anything for that matter. When your dad’s home, worried sick about you, you don’t even make the courtesy of staying home for at least, instead, you wonder off to God knows where,’ Meredith starts,

‘Yeah, it’s always my fault, right? Everything is. Blame the kid who doesn’t have a mother,’ Stiles shouts back, ducking his head. He takes a breath, and swallows. His lips are dry, and he fumbles with his white blanket, before opening his mouth.

‘I think you both should leave,’ he says after a moment of hesitation.

 

\--

 

He waits, he’s been waiting for nearly the whole evening. The doctors had asked him to stay the night, with his injury and his dehydration; they wanted him under their care for at least 24 hours. He fumbles with the TV remote, switching channels every so often, never really settling on a channel. He has some soup – broccoli – and some bread for dinner; sitting by himself in a room has never felt so alone.

 

He puts the tray aside on the bedside table, and smoothens out his blanket, only to mess it up again. His attention was going everywhere, spiking at different times, exhausting his mind even more. There’s only so much he could do in a room, with a dead phone, nothing to watch, and no one to talk to.

 

He doesn’t want to sleep, no matter how much his tired mind nags him, pulling down his eyelids, bribing him with rest. He wants to stay awake; he wants to be awake when he gets the visitor he’s been waiting for. Even though he knows it’s hours past visiting hours, and half of him is utterly convinced that he won’t see him, the other half keeps him awake, holding on to that hope.

 

 _Surely, he’s heard about the accident, I mean, he’s friends with Scott.. Scott will have told him, right?_ Stiles thinks, convincing himself; trying to give himself a reason to stay awake. He wants to see Derek, he wants to be able to hug him, and cry on his chest like he’s been doing so often, he wants to be able to whisper his secrets and pour out how much he hates his life. He wants to listen to Derek’s stories, the countless stories he’s heard, the ones he’s over heard, and his voice when he tells them.

 

He realizes that he’s so far gone, that it’s only taken him a couple of days to tear down the walls he’s built to shield himself from everyone else, after meeting Derek countless times, over weeks and weeks, being guarded and cautious. Now, after only a couple of days, he’s completely raw and naked – completely vulnerable – to Derek, and he’s okay with that. Derek fills the hole that Scott hadn’t ever been able to fill.

 

He falls asleep, with his eyes still following the arrows on the clock. Derek never showed.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoyed it! feedback is welcomed, and i'd love to hear how you want this fic to turn out. thank you for reading! x


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys! i hope you're proud of me that i'm posting it on time.  
> i'd just like to mention beforehand that this is probably a little late, but the lax match in the previous chapter was based on the match in 2x11.
> 
> also, Stiles in the hospital in this scene is based on Stiles in 2x12 during the conversation he had with his father, the famous, 'i'm not a hero' scene.
> 
> here you go! i hope you enjoy it!

Chapter 8

 

 

Derek couldn't sleep that night; the worry that constantly nagged him prevented him from any shuteye. Stiles had told him he would text him after the match, but he never did. He supposes he shouldn't think too much of it, it's not like Stiles had committed to him or anything, it wasn't right to think that way. He certainly hadn't defined anything about the relationship - hell, they hadn't even gone further than the first date privileges, excluding the part where Stiles stayed over. It’s always been just the comfort of being around each other. If this wasn't something, he doesn’t know what to think. He guesses it's not like Stiles had to text him, maybe Stiles was just celebrating, having fun, like a normal teenager should. However, this thought kept him up until 3AM, when he realizes this was probably not the case.

 

He wasn't willing to admit it yet, but the real reason as to why he couldn't sleep that night was because he misses the warmth of the smaller body, coiled up in his arms. To be honest, worrying about Stiles and missing Stiles didn't really give him any man points, and admitting he was worried about Stiles was more than he was every prepared to admit, let alone say any of it out loud. Nope, he wasn’t going there.

 

 

His sleep was restless and the serenity of the nights he had with Stiles was nowhere to be found. He tossed and turned, trying to find a comfortable position, but the only way he could be comfortable was if Stiles' back was pressed up against him, and falling asleep to Stiles' soft snores.

 

The morning was unbearable; the only thing he had to run on was caffeine. He'd had many sleepless nights before, but never one that exhausted him to this extent. It was a lazy morning, his body clock had woken him up from the few hours of sleep he managed to catch at 8 - the time Stiles would usually have gotten up for school. He smiled to himself when he woke up at how easily Stiles had slotted into his life and how smooth the change had been.

 

On his run in the woods, he checks the time on his watch and worry overcame him. It's almost noon and there's been nothing from Stiles. They'd never gone this long without texting or at the very least voicemail. He knows he's fired off a couple of messages to Stiles, but there was no response.

 

Paranoia, that's what it is, he thinks to himself.

 

Regardless, he detours back to his apartment, showers, puts on a change of clothes – digging out a navy blue shirt rather than a grey one this time – groaning at how far gone he is. _He’s picking out what he’s going to wear for Stiles to go find him_. He grimaced at the absurdity of the situation, grabs his keys and jumps into his car for a drive over to Beacon Hills High.

 

\--

 

He parks his car on the side of the car park, just out of sight. Since, well, a sleek, black Camaro might look out of place in a high school car park. He’s a couple of minutes early, but hey, better safe than sorry, right? He sits in his car, tapping the beat of the song stuck in his head on his thighs and looking out to the empty car park.

 

As soon as the bell rang, Derek is out of his car. He makes sure he locks it – Lord knows what kids would do these days when presented with an opportunity – and heads his way down the road and into the car park.

 

He catches Scott’s messy bed hair in the middle of the crowded car park and makes his way over. He sees him with a pretty, pale girl with ebony black hair and an amazing smile, lost in their own world. They’re happy, he thinks, the kind of happy he’s never seen Stiles when he’s at the bar, the kind of happy he thinks he feels in the late hours of the night, with his arm wrapped around Stiles’ body.

 

‘Scott,’ Derek says, as he grabs Scott’s arm from behind. Scott looks at him confused – as usual – and Allison’s arm wraps tighter around Scott’s arm protectively.

‘Hey, Derek, what are you doing here?’

‘Where’s Stiles?’ He asks without hesitation.

‘He’s at the hospital, why?’ Scott asks curiously – it wasn’t like Derek and Stiles had anything between them, right? If there was, Scott was _sure_ Stiles would’ve told him something if there was, he’s sure of it.

‘Thanks,’ Derek says, and spins on his heels, resisting the temptation to sprint back to his car and break all the traffic laws ever known to man to get to the hospital. No, he’s got far more class and self restraint than that, so he just speed walks to his car and breaks only half of the traffic laws, leaving Scott behind clouded with confusion.

 

\--

 

Derek enters the hospital with long strides, counting the passing brown doors on each side. He turns a corner, only stopping at a vending machine to get them two coffees. Probably not the greatest coffee – definitely not as good as the ones he makes himself in the morning – he thinks. He figures it’s at least something as an apology gift for not coming sooner.

 

Not that he could, but that was beside the point.

 

 He adds in two sugars and a packet of milk, just the way Stiles likes it. It’s ridiculous, they’ve known each other for only a couple of days – really know each other – and he already knows how Stiles takes his coffee. He also knows what food Stiles likes, the movies he loves, and the lines he can recite. Tragic, really.

He leaves his coffee the way it is; the bitterness feels nice on his taste buds – he likes it that way. He grabs the two cups and walks to Stiles’ room, being careful not to spill any of the coffee down his jeans or on the spotless tiles beneath him. It’s surprising really, he’d expect at least a drop of blood from a nosebleed or something, but it’s squeaky clean.

 

He leans against the door, shuffling around, trying to find an angle to open the door with, seeing as both his hands are full. He hears muffling voices inside, one he recognizes as Stiles – he couldn’t miss a voice like that, he’d recognize him in a crowded room – the other he doesn’t recognize. It’s a woman. It’s heated, he can tell by the frustration in the woman’s voice. He leans his on the door, pressing his ear against it to hear their conversation, the feeling of _wrong_ and intrusion nags him, but he shakes it off.

 

‘Why can’t you just be like other boys? You’re _always_ causing trouble for me and your dad, can’t you see he’s busy enough as it is?’

‘It’s not like it’s my intention to get hit by a freak of nature,’ Stiles – that’s definitely Stiles. The woman laughs – not in a very nice way either. Derek frowns.

‘Him?  A freak of nature? That’s you, you idiot. You can’t even fend for yourself,’

Derek shifts at the uncomfortable silence, he should probably do something. He can’t help but think of that morning, the first morning that Stiles stayed over and he rambled on about this god damned stepmother of his.

‘Yeah, maybe I am,’ Stiles spoke so softly, Derek only barely made out the words. He doesn’t care anymore; he opens the door and walks in only to be greeted by Stiles’ wide eyes and this woman’s pissed off face. He hands Stiles his coffee and smiles.

‘Hey,’

‘Hey,’ Stiles smiles back, holding Derek’s gaze.

‘Got yourself a friend, have you?’ The woman says sweetly.

‘Yeah, he did,’ Derek turns.

‘Wonder how that happened, you two seem like unlikely friends!’

‘Chance,’ Derek says before Stiles could say anything. He could feel Stiles’ stare on him, begging him to stop talking but he won’t. No, he’s going to get to the bottom of this. If this is Meredith, she _will_ crack at some point, and he’s going to be there to pounce.

‘Interesting,’ Meredith says, nodding.

‘It’s not really,’

‘It’s not often I see Stiles’ friends,’ Meredith points out.

‘Yeah, I wonder why,’ Derek slips out, clamming his mouth shut immediately.

‘Sorry, what was that?’ Meredith’s voice turns cold. Derek hesitates, before looking at her square in the eye. He knows Stiles is begging him to stop, but he won’t. He’s going to take a stand for him. He doesn’t want Stiles to be like this any longer, it’s not fair.

‘I said, I wonder why,’

‘What’s that supposed to mean, Derek?’

‘How do you know my name?’

‘Oh, Stiles here has been talking all about you,’ Meredith cocks her head to the side, piercing her eyes into Derek.

‘Has he now, I hope it’s been good things,’

‘Most definitely, he wouldn’t do anything else, looks like you got him on a leash,’

‘Jealous, are you?’ Derek makes a bold assumption, hoping he’s hit close to the target. Meredith laughs, he winces.

‘Is that what he’s been telling you? That’s cute, really,’ she sniggers.

‘No, he hasn’t told me anything. He doesn’t have to; you’re a plain bitch. It’s clear as day,’ Derek says flat out.

‘That’s not nice, your mother should’ve taught you better. Oh wait, I’m sorry, she’s not here anymore,’ Derek curls his fists in a tight ball, his shoulder’s rising and falling, trying to control his anger. Stiles gapes.

‘Oh oops, I guess Derek still hasn’t told you that, has he, Stiles? He’s not much of a _friend_ now, is he, keeping secrets like that,’ Meredith laughs.

‘I think you should leave,’ Derek growls.

‘What are you going to do about it? Incase you’ve forgotten, _I’m_ the legal guardian here. I can kick you out whenever I want,’ Meredith folds her arms and smirks.

‘I highly recommend you to leave,’ Derek says.

‘Is that a threat?’

‘It’s a warning,’

‘Ooh, I’m scared, Derek, let me ask you something. What are you going to do? Punch me? _Please_ , I can get you arrested within a blink of an eye. Did you forget I’m also married to the town Sheriff?’

‘Yeah, that’s just slightly ironic, isn’t it? I wonder if he knows about what you did two towns over,’ Derek shifts his weight onto his left foot, into a more laid-back stance. He smirks as he sees Meredith’s face ashen.

‘Don’t you dare threaten me with that,’

‘Then leave,’ Derek stares her down, until she storms out, with her head held high. He sighs, and drinks his coffee.

‘Derek?’ A small voice calls him, he turns around to see Stiles, his eyes tired, his lips bruised and cut, a bandage around his head, and bright yellow cast on his leg. The worst, the _worst_ of it all was the way he was looking at him, in those eyes, the sight of mistrust and confusion. Derek drops his gaze.

‘Derek, what was that?’ Stiles looks at him. Derek’s lips clam shut, forming a thin line.

‘I have a friend over in the police department, asked him to dig around a bit – I found out her son shot her, then shot himself, her husband –‘

‘I don’t care,’ Stiles cuts him off, looking up at Derek.

‘I _can_ fend for myself,’ Stiles tells him, his voice controlled and protective. Derek doesn’t understand.

‘You coming in like that.. You’re just proving her point that I need someone,’ Stiles says bitterly.

‘Stiles,’ Derek begins.

‘Can you get me out of here?’ Stiles changes his tone completely, his mask back on his face, the very last hints of tiredness and vulnerability gone in an instant. The ease in the way that Stiles could masks this worries Derek – worry was a complete understatement. It _terrifies_ him, how it was so easy for Stiles to just hide everything – it makes him wonder what else he could be hiding, all those secrets he kept buried beneath the surface that no one else could ever find.

‘Yeah, I’ll drive you back to my place,’ Derek mumbles.

'No, home,' Stiles says.

'But -'

'I want to be alone,'

 

\--

 

Stiles pushes the door open with one of his crutches, it’s not a surprise to see Meredith already waiting there. She’s only watching TV, on the couch, anyone would pass that as ordinary, but Stiles sees right through it. It’s always the tell, she’s always do something completely out of routine, like watch TV or listen to the radio, and he’d know something’s off. He’d notice the way her eyes aren’t really looking at the TV, but something right above it, or the way she’d tilt her head slightly, pretending not to acknowledge his presence, but she blatantly has. Usually, he’d tiptoe around her, cautious and careful. But he knows that this time, it’s about him. It’s not like he could tiptoe around this one.

 

‘You look like you need some help,’ she starts. Stiles braces himself for it – it’s starting – the load of bullshit she throws at him.

‘I’m fine,’ he says as dismissively as he could.

‘Sweetie, you’re obviously struggling, let me help you,’ Stiles winces, the sweetness of that phrase, the way she said it. It was so pretentiously sweet and endearing, it made him want to hurl. Most of all, though, it made him want to get out of there as fast as he could. Meredith didn’t call him ‘ _sweetie’_ unless he did something wrong, it was the warning a predator gave its’ pray. Meredith definitely never offered him _help_ , there was something gravely wrong here, and he really didn’t want to stay and find out, but there was no way of escape.

 

Meredith walks over to him and grips his shoulders. She grabs his hands and pulls them over the crutches; he bites his bottom lip to stop him from crying out. It’s never been like this before, she’s never touched him and hurt him before, at least not until that night he hit her. His heart was beating ferociously, blood rushing in his ears. He had no clue what would happen next, everything she did was so unpredictable. It brought him back to the first days of her in his life, the cold way she would treat him, and talk to him, the helplessness he felt back then.

 

Meredith takes one of the crutches from him and throws them to the wall, leaving him unbalanced and staggering.

‘Where’s Derek to help you now, Stiles?’ She snarls, her fingers digging into Stiles’ shoulder, pushing him up against the wall.

‘Where’s you friends, Stiles? Why don’t you ask them to help you?’ She shouts. Stiles tries to breathe, but all that comes out is short pants, struggling to remain calm. He shuts his eyes, and tries to blink it all away.

‘I’m not disappearing, Stiles. I’m right here, and I’m going to be here for the rest of your life,’ she shouts. Stiles squirms under her touch, his shoulder aching from the tight grip. He feels a warm liquid tickling down his arm. She was remarkably strong for a woman, he’d grant her that.

‘There’s no one here to help you, Stiles, look around. You’re _alone_. You’re always going to _be alone_ ,’ Meredith spits at him, he keeps his eyes closed, pressing his eyelids together as hard as he can. He prays, he prays to anything and everything. He prays to God, if there is one, to save him.

‘You’re nothing. Open your eyes, Stiles. _Open your eyes_ ,’ She commands so aggressively, he fears that if he didn’t, he wouldn’t breathe for much longer. He opens his eyes, God, he opens them, he opens them so suddenly and violently, only to be met with Meredith’s green, penetrating eyes.

‘Look around you,’ and he does, he really does, he eyes sweep around the room, ‘there’s no one else here is there? Not even your own father. Why is that, Stiles? Tell me,’ she hisses in his ears, sending a shudder down his spine. He gulps, and stutters.

‘Because I’m alone,’ he whispers, his voice rasp.

‘For once, you get something right. You’re so pathetic, Stiles. You want to know why? Let me tell you, you think you’re great now, with Derek by your side. Guess what? You’re not great. You will always be inferior to me. You are a _child_ ,’

‘Stop, please, stop,’ Stiles begs, breaking in to tears. He doesn’t care anymore. He just wants it all to stop. All of it. She doesn’t.

‘You think Derek would want you? Why would he want someone like you? Oh, yes, I know your dirty little secret, not so subtle are we, Stiles?’ She taunts, playing with him, ‘Handicapped, disabled, there’s nothing _right_ going on up there in that thing you call a brain, Stiles. Why would he want you other than to use you? You’re just a pathetic child that doesn’t know what’s good for him, a child that doesn’t have a mother,’ she spits.

‘Stop, please. I’m sorry, just stop,’ Stiles begs between sobs, his shoulder was numb; it’s reached that level of pain where he can’t feel anything anymore. It’s just completely numb, and he’s afraid. Hell, he’s never been so afraid for his life.

‘No, why would I stop, Stiles? This is life; it doesn’t stop because you want it to. It plows on and tramples you if you’re not strong enough. You’re not strong, Stiles, you’re _weak_. Look at you, begging for your life. You’re _pathetic_ , and _weak_ ,’ she hisses, pushing every button, drilling it into his skull.

‘Do you understand me? You are _nothing_ ,’ Stiles nods vigorously, anything, he prays, he’ll do anything to be free from this. Anything at all.

 

He doesn’t know if God exists, but if a miracle were to happen, it would be this one. Meredith lets her grip on his shoulder go, he feels the pain flooding into his shoulder, instinctively putting his other hand over his shoulder, cradling it. Without his hand to support him on his crutches, he loses balance, and topples to the floor, letting out yet another cry. Meredith laughs at him, and walks away, leaving him helpless on the floor and in tears.

 

Slowly and eventually, the pain subsides to a small throb. He tries to move his arm, and winces in pain. Well that’s not an option anymore. He lifts his hand from his shoulder and presses against the wall, trying to push himself up into an upright position. He bends over to pick up his crutches and hobbles up into his room.

 

He sits on his desk, his face in his hands. His heart rate barely decreased, the event had been so traumatizing. But maybe Meredith was right. Maybe he is nothing. It’s not the first time she’s said it, so there must be some truth in it, right? It’s not like someone can repeat the same lie over and over and expect there not to be any truth in it. It’s not the first time he’s been told that he’s pathetic and weak. He just thought that a 6th grade bully didn’t mean anything. It was just some issues that he had; he’d grow out of it. His father said so. But what does that mean anyways, it’s not like his dad is around often anymore, is it? Besides, the fact that Meredith said the exact same words must mean something. Two completely different people who have never crossed paths, to say the same thing to Stiles – it’s got to be true.

 

Maybe he’s being trampled on, because maybe he isn’t strong enough. He got through his mother’s death, but that was just a stroke of luck, a fluke. Maybe he wasn’t meant to get past that, maybe he’s supposed to be lost in the past because he isn’t strong enough for the future ahead of him. That future being now.

 

He knows he’s weak. He’s been burying everything for so long, he’s been burdened by so much. Far too much for a 16 year old. What would he know; all he’s ever been is a punching bag for his father’s rough nights and Scott’s wild hormones. No one’s been there for him, not really anyways. There’s only so much a kid can take. Like Meredith said, he’s only a _child_.

 

He tried, he can honestly say that he tried his hardest to get past it, to push it all down, bury it and lock it away so he can have a good life. It’s just difficult when the key is just there, tempting to open the lock and let everything he buried away engulf him again. Sure, he’s got Derek now, but how long will that last? He’ll just leave him, like everyone does. Like his mother, like his father, like Scott did for Allison. He just might, his fingers are itching to open it, to go back there and be absorbed in the pit he’s created in himself.

Maybe it’s time for him to leave as well.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you guys like it! feedback is welcomed! :) x


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not going to be here over the weekend, so I won't be able to post on Saturday. So I thought I'd be awesome and post it early. :D  
> Also, I'm adding another chapter because the ending doesn't feel quite right.
> 
> Trigger Warnings - Self Harm, Self Destruction.

Chapter 9

 

_Goodbye._

He scrawls out on a piece of paper, his tears blinding his eyes.  His hand was shaking, barely able to scratch the pencil on paper. He doesn’t know what to write, he sincerely doesn’t. He wants to write more, he wants to write a whole letter for the ones he’s leaving behind. He wants to get to kiss Derek one last time, to hug him, take with him the smell of Derek’s aftershave, the smell of his bed, the way Derek’s face softens and calms when he’s sleeping. He wants to tell his dad he’s sorry, that he tried; he really did, to be the son that he always wanted. He wants to hug his dad and tell him that he loves him, but the last thing he said to him was, ‘I want you to leave.’

 

He’s had thoughts in the past, but he’s never acted on it. There’s always been a reason to hold on, like how his dad’s coming back to spend the weekend and he doesn’t want to miss that, or the match coming up and he wants to be there for Scott when he wins. It’s always been the little things, nothing great, nothing unachievable. Now, he’s got Derek, but with everyone voluntarily dropping out of his life, and the one person he’s sure would do anything to stay in it is the one person he hates the most, he’d rather sacrifice Derek than live with that. Let’s be honest here, he knows far better than anyone, that some day, Derek’s going to leave him, Derek’s going to find something much better and leave him. It’s just better that he doesn’t have to go through that.

 

‘Goodbye’ isn’t enough. One word isn’t enough for him to apologize for the things he’s about to do, it’s never nearly enough. He wants to explain everything, he wants to write everything down, but he thinks that if he does, there would be no reason for anyone to remember him by. It’s selfish of him, not wanting to give them closure, but the goodbye he’s giving is far more than he’s ever gotten.

 

_Dad, Derek, Scott. It’s not your fault. I promise you, and I swear if it’s the last thing I ever do, I want you to know it’s not your fault._

He scribbles out. It’s easier that way, he hopes with everything he has that they believe it. The last thing he’d want them to do is blame themselves, he wishes he could be the one to tell them himself that what he’s about to do is not their fault, that they’ve been the ones keeping him alive until now. Sure, Scott hasn’t been a best friend for a while now, but that doesn’t mean Stiles doesn’t hope things go back to the way they were before. His dad might not have been a great father for months, but he remembers the way his dad would take care of him when he was sick after his mom passed away. It’s the little things that gave him hope. At least up until now anyway.

 

_It’s okay to hate me for doing this, dad, but don’t hate yourself. Promise me you’ll keep on living. For me._

It’s so selfish of him. So incredibly _selfish_ of him to ask that of his father. To ask him to move on and live like his son hadn’t just left him all alone after being the only thing he had left after the loss of his wife. To ask him to promise Stiles something so difficult and have receive nothing in return. To ask him to not drown himself in self-hate after the two most important people in his life cease to exist. To have to repeat the overwhelming feeling of loss and pain – the only difference this time round is the addition of guilt. To have the only thing worth living for, die.

 

He contemplates on writing about Meredith, his hand hovers above the paper, unable to scribble down the perfect words. He knows what he wants, he knows he deserves justice, and at the very least, his father deserves the truth. His father deserves reason, understanding and to be free of the nights he’d spend heavily drunk, blaming himself for the death of his wife and son.

 

_You win._

That’s all he’s going to write. He’s not going to press it any further, just give her the satisfaction that finally, after all these years, he’s given in, and given up. It’s done. He surrenders, raised the white flag. He hopes his father understands, he hopes Scott realizes that this is his battle and it has never involved Scott, that he’s never told Scott because he didn’t want Scott to worry about anything more. He hopes Derek knows that over the short period of time that they’ve known each other, he’s done more for Stiles than anyone has in years.

 

_Please don’t forget me._

His last plea. He wants something to himself; he wants to mean something in the lives that he’s touched. It’s the last thing he’ll ever ask of these people, knowing he’s already asked so much of them in the past. He wants to be able to see them, and hold their gaze, and _beg_ for them not to forget him, the same way Helena was never forgotten. The only difference was his mother’s life was ripped and torn away from her, but him? No, he chose to go. It being the only choice he had left, the only way to escape the constant overwhelming, crushing fear that something terrible is about to happen – and the way it always does.

 

He knows well in his heart that if there were to be one person to walk through those doors right this moment, all would be lost, and he wouldn’t be able to go through with it, regardless of how he thought he wishes he can say these goodbyes to their faces. It’s because he’s a _coward_ , he’s _always_ been a coward. If he were to see his dad’s face at the doorway, he’d stop everything and this opportunity would be lost. He would continue live the life of the constant torture and pain, the life of drinking away his problems and not coming home. The life of repeating this vicious cycle without ever plucking up the courage to attempt an escape again.

 

He puts down the pencil, adjacent to the white piece of paper, stained with tears. He slowly got up from the pencil and sat on the floor, leaning his back against his bed. His hands were shaking viciously, much more than they were when he was writing his final goodbye. He picks up the blades and stares at them, his vision being almost blinded by the tears escaping his eyes. It didn’t feel real, none of it did. It felt like he would wake up any moment now, that this would be the kind of dream that he would wake up from, cold and sweaty; the sun would be shining, and it’s going to be another day of living hell.  He teases his skin with the tip of the blade, only enough to send a jolt to his heart, reminding him for a brief moment that this _is_ real, there is nothing more real than what he’s about to do. Although in an instant, that was gone, and the numbness overcame him.

 

He presses the blade lightly into his skin, watching it sink and split. He watches the droplets of blood oozing out, and it hits him that this was it. He abruptly pushes it in further, watching the blade sink into his wrist, the skin splitting completely, bouncing back up to cover the blade. He could feel each beat of his heart counting down to the last one, when all of those beats had run out of his system through these slits. He drags it, clenching his jaws as he does so. He drags it across his wrist in one slick movement, and watches the blood gush out enthusiastically. It runs down his wrists, staining his legs, his carpet, but it doesn’t matter anymore. He isn’t going to be here for much longer.

 

Watching the blood ooze from his wrist, he switches hands. The blood, finding itself being angled downwards, continues to drop furiously without hesitation. He fumbles around his arm, trying to catch his wrist. It was difficult, with the amount of blurring in his vision. Which was dropping faster, the blood or the tears, it was difficult to tell. Finally catching his wrist with the corner of the blade, he digs it into his skin, gasping at the unexpected abrupt roar of pain. He could feel the blood pulsing through his ears, and it was frightening to think that within minutes, he wouldn’t be able to hear it anymore, he wouldn’t be able to hear the rhythmic thump of his heart beat, 72 times per minute, it was too late to turn back now. Not that he had any intention to. He was going to do this right, if this is to be the only thing he does right in his life, then so be it.

 

He slashes it across his wrist, and watches as the blood rushes out with a sense of urgency. It’s satisfying, the thought of knowing that it will all be over soon, that in just minutes, he will be in a better place. Who knows, maybe he’ll be with his mother again. It’s almost comforting, that he’s leaving this world on his own accord, that he was finally doing something for himself, and not because someone told him to. It’s funny really, the way life works, people make such a big deal about suicide, but millions of people die everyday from accidents. Death, it’s just the inevitable. Everyone’s going to die anyway, wouldn’t it be better that you control how and when you die?

 

He leans his head back and rests it on his bed, closing his eyes. This is it, he’s going to let it all go. Everything that’s held him back the past 17 years of his life, everything he’s going to be free of, everything he’s sacrificed to do this. His arms are weak against the floor, widening the pool and deepening the shade of red surrounding his wrists. It’s slower now, much slower, and he can feel it too, his life draining out of him. It’s much better this way, he thinks; at least he got to say goodbye. There are much more unfortunate souls that lay there, dying, without being able to say goodbye to all their loved ones. He counts it as his final blessing.

 He can feel his consciousness slipping away from him; he can feel every resurface after a black out he doesn’t remember having.

 _Goodbye,_ he thinks as he completely lets go, succumbing to the darkness of unconsciousness.

 

When they say, life flashes before your eyes, they were lying. Maybe it only happens when you’re not ready to go, when you’re desperately clinging on to the memories of the past, hoping for anything to take you back. But not for Stiles. It’s just a peaceful, bottomless pit. He can feel himself falling, or maybe floating, he’s not quite sure, but if he’s like this forever, then he really doesn’t mind.

 

\--

 

‘Stiles, I’m home!’ A voice rings out just outside the door.

‘Stiles?’ Footsteps trudge up the stairs, and the handle of the door clicks open. A head pokes through.

‘Son, how’s your day been?’ It slips out, as his eyes look at the desk, to find it empty except for one single piece of paper. The door widens, and he steps in. He crumples on his knees, and lets out a cry of agony at the sight before him. His son, pale, young, so peaceful, lay before him. The blood is almost dry, his mind panics.

 

 _Think, John, think. You’re the town Sheriff, for God’s sake. Do something._ He picks up his radio and shouts in it.

’10-56! 10-56! Suicide, we need paramedics, we need an ambulance, oh God, hurry, please. It’s Stiles,’ He pleads at the last line, before shutting it off, rushing over to cradle his son in his arms, sobbing into his shoulder.

‘Son, I’m so sorry, Stiles,’ He cries. He looks up and sees the piece of paper, on the table. He picks it up and only then does he realize that his whole arm is shaking. He puts it back down on the table, and tries to read it.

 

_Goodbye._

_Before I say anything else, I want the person to find this to know that if you found me like this, then you probably mean a lot to me. I love you._

_Dad, Derek, Scott. It’s not your fault. I promise you, and I swear if it’s the last thing I ever do, I want you to know it’s not your fault._

_Dad, I love you so much. I’m sorry for giving you a rough time the last few months, but I want you to know that I love you. It’s okay to hate me for doing this, dad, but don’t hate yourself. Promise me you’ll keep on living. For me._

_Derek, thank you for coming into my life when you did. Without you, I wouldn’t have known what safety and security is. I wouldn’t have known what it was like to love someone, and to be loved back._

_Scott, I will miss you so much, man. If you ever do something stupid, I promise you, I will come back and haunt your ass._

_To you, you win._

_Please don’t forget me._

_I love you so much._

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to everyone who stuck with me through my horrendous punctuality and crappy apologies, but here we are.   
> we're at the end now, and i have you to thank for that because if i hadn't gotten such good feedback, i'd probably just scrap the whole thing.  
> so thank you for that, and i hope this last chapter meets your expectations. :)

Chapter 10

 

 

The way the lights strobe across Stiles’ body as he lay sickly pale on the bed whilst being pushed through the white hospital halls is all too familiar for John’s liking. He rushes along with them, urging them to go quicker and quicker, time was running out and he needs to save his son. He hadn’t called Meredith; the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind. His son is his priority; there is absolutely nothing more important right now than his son’s life. He clings to the hope though, the small thread of hope that his son might still have a chance of being rescued.

 

_So if you’re drowning, and you try to keep your mouth closed to that very last moment, but if you choose to not open your mouth, to not let the water in.._

_You do anyway, it’s a reflex._

_But if you hold off, until the reflex kicks in, you have more time, right?_

_Not much time._

_But more time to fight your way to the surface, more time to be rescued._

_Keep your mouth closed, Stiles, hang on,_ his father thinks – prays with every fibre of his being.

 

The paramedics had puts a hand on his torso– to stop him from entering the ICU with the rest of them.

‘You can’t! That’s my son,’ John pleads.

‘Sir, you need to stay back,’ A paramedic replies quickly, barely turning his head around.

‘I’m the town sheriff,’ John shouts, using the card he wished he needn’t resort to.

‘Sir, we understand. But with all due respect, it would be best for Stiles right now if you were out of the way.’ The paramedic finally makes eye contact, and his expression softens, ‘We’re losing time, sir,’ Just like that, John steps back. He bows his head in understanding – anything to save his son.

 

John sat down in the waiting room, his elbows digging into his thighs, his head buried in his hands, the last piece of Stiles he has left, crumpled in his pocket.

 

\--

 

Scott stares blankly at the empty seat next to him. He then checks his phone. No new messages. His face scrunches up in confusion and exasperation. It’s the start of second period and Stiles is nowhere to be found. He’d at the very least text Scott if he was ditching school – which he _never_ did, by the way – and to start now was weird. Or if he was sick, he’d still text him that he’s dead on the bed. Something’s definitely up.

 

He glances over at Danny – he’s sure Danny would know where he is. If Scott didn’t know, then Danny would. Danny knows everything. He wonders how Danny isn’t God by now. But then again, maybe Danny is, but no one knows.

He throws a ball of paper at Danny to get his attention. Danny turns around with a pissed face, not even a bulldog can compare.

 

 _Where’s Stiles?_ He mouths.

 

Danny shrugs and looks back on his work sheet.

 

‘Do you have something to share with the class, Mr. McCall?’ Harris’ voice rings out from the front of the classroom. Scott turns back and stares straight into Harris’ eyes. He swallows.

‘No, sir,’ He stammers, earning himself a couple of snickers. Harris spins on his heels and continues to write some form of equation on the board, he’ll ask Stiles about it later. He sinks back into his chair and wiggles the pen between his fingers.

 

He considers texting Derek, it seems to him that Stiles and Derek have been getting closer lately – sure, he might be slow, but there’s no way of not noticing how Derek sped off the other day when Scott told him Stiles was in the hospital. If he didn’t know better, he’d have thought Derek had a crush on Stiles. But that wasn’t possible, come on, Derek was like. _Ancient_. Derek was still an option nonetheless.

 

**_Scott:_ **

_Hey man, you know where Stiles is?_

 

Scott fires off a text, it couldn’t do any harm, right? A couple of seconds later he feels his phone vibrate.

 

**_Derek:_ **

_No, he’s not in school?_

**_Scott:_ **

_Obviously not._

**_Derek:_ **

_You sure he’s not at home?_

**_Scott:_ **

_Nothing at all from Stiles. It’s unusual._

**_Derek:_ **

_I’ll look around._

 

He shuffles in his seat restlessly, unable to stop himself from doodling on his page, and tapping his foot. It was uncomfortable, the way he couldn’t tell where Stiles is, he probably shouldn’t put too much thought into it, after all, it could just be Stiles ditching school. That’s the thing though, Stiles _never_ ditches school. He’ll just have to find out one way or the other.

 

He didn’t know what was up with Stiles these days, and it bothered him a lot. The fact that Stiles wouldn’t let anyone in, not even him, and he was his best friend. That’s gotta be something, right? They used to tell each other everything, from the small things like, _Lydia looked at me today,_ to _It’s Helena’s birthday today._ Regardless of how cheesy their friendship was, they always went through each battle together, head on. But as of late, it seems like Stiles was fighting his own battles, leaving Scott to watch on the sidelines.

 

It hurt – not that he’d tell Stiles – but it hurt to know that your best friend, the friend that he spent his whole child hood being batman and robin, battling an evil enemy called Cancer, threatening to invade and destroy the world, laughing and lightening up when Stiles said his mom was getting better, meaning that they were winning against this long lasting battle and crying and hugging him when his mother died, and Cancer had won. That friend that he’d built his life around, leaving him to go fight his own battles without even the slightest heads up.

 

The bell rings, and Scott is snapped out of his thoughts. He’ll call the Sheriff after school.

 

\--

 

Derek continuously calls Stiles’ phone on the drive over to the Stilinski household, leaving message after message. The anxious pit in his stomach grows bigger at each missed phone call. It could swallow him whole. He speeds past the red lights, going much faster than the speed limit, and thanking his lucky stars; there were no police officers to pull his car over.

 

He slams the door shut and leaves his engine running. He’s too worried to be bothered about the small things, and he’s pretty sure there’s no one who’s going to steal his car, it’s a pretty safe town.

 

He knocks three times on the front door. Silence. He shuffles around and waits a couple more minutes before knocking on it again, louder this time. Again, there was no response. He tries the doorknob, experimentally twisting it – and to his surprise, it wasn’t locked. Now, he may not be a detective, but if he was the town Sheriff, and the house was going to be empty, he’d at least lock the front door.

 

He steps inside. The hollowness of the silence is overwhelming - it makes his heart quicken. The creak of the wooden floor beneath him echoes, and disappears. He steps in, never having really been in the Stilinski household before. He takes in the small cracks in the wall, the worn sofa and the old looking cushions looking sad on it. He sees the mantelpiece leaning against the wall, with only 7 photos on it. Family photos, in chronological order. The first one, the smallest of them all, was a faded and blurred picture of Helena smiling behind Stiles as he blew out the candles of his fourth birthday cake. He picks it up, rubbing his thumb against the photo and smiles. He puts it back down, and looks at the next one. Stiles probably isn’t much older, he’s about 6 this time, smiling goofily with his arm wrapped around Scott’s neck. The third photo, he sees and his heart clenches. He picks it up; it’s a small, faded photo of Stiles sitting at the foot of the hospital bed, his mouth open wide, like he was in the middle of telling a story. Lying on the bed, lay a woman, he knew whom she was, but she looked so different, without her hair now. Nonetheless, it doesn’t seem to make a difference as she has her head thrown back, laughing. It was such a perfect picture, and it hurts to know that this woman, this miracle is now gone.

 

He glances at the next photo, and he sees it’s now Stiles in his lacrosse uniform. The gap between the last photo and this one does not go unnoticed. He understands though, having been through it himself. There he is again, the same pose as the second photo, his arm wrapped around Scott’s neck, both wearing the read lacrosse uniform and holding their sticks.

 

The next one though, it’s a picture of a woman and the Sheriff, a woman that’s smiling so bright, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. _Meredith._ She could’ve fooled anyone with a smile like that, tricking them into falling in love with her. It wasn’t difficult.

 

He doesn’t look at the last few, knowing the photos wouldn’t be happy ones. He looks across the room, seeing nothing out of place. He walks up the old, wooden stairs to Stiles’ room. He reaches for the doorknob and twists it gently. He looks in, and sees an empty desk, completely clean. He opens the door wider, and sees two large pools of blood on the carpet. Everything stops.

 

He falls to his knees and lets out a bloodcurdling cry.

He falls onto his arms, his head buried in his hands.

 

\--

 

He panics, his mind goes blank. He shouldn’t know this. If he didn’t come here, he wouldn’t have known. The Sheriff didn’t know about him and Stiles, he wouldn’t have known until it was on the news. Or at least when word spread around.

 

He quickly dials the hospital, asking if Stiles had checked in. Of course, the hospital would tell him that ‘patient confidentiality’ and all that. He was getting desperate. Really desperate, and he kept pestering the woman. He must’ve succeeded in some way, since her voice hushed and she tells him that there has been an attempted suicide earlier in the day, and that whether they are able to revive him – there were no news.

 

He thanks her profusely and hangs up before running down to his car and speeding to the hospital.

 

\--

 

Scott feels his phone vibrate in his back pocket. He pulls out his phone and checks it.

 

**_Derek:_ **

_Stiles in hospital. Come now._

He freezes in the middle of the hallway, causing people to run into him yelling, ‘what the hell, man’

He spins on his heels, back the way he came from. He pushes the two doors open and into the parking lot, only then, to realize that he has absolutely no way of getting there. Stiles didn’t drop him off in the usual blue Jeep. His mom did. Two blocks away.

 

He huffs, pulling his bag up his shoulders and walks down the empty stairs. Looks like it’s going to be a long walk.

 

\--

 

Derek walks into the waiting room, expecting to see rows and rows of people sitting, huddling together. To say the least, he’s surprised to see only a couple of people bunching around in the room, minding their own business. He scans the room, and he sees the Sheriff at the back corner of the waiting room, alone, his face buried in his hands.

 

‘Sheriff,’ Derek greets. The Sheriff brings his hands down slightly, only enough for his eyes to emerge and see the figure before him.

‘Sir, what can I do to help you?’ He says tiredly. The respect Derek feels for the Sheriff increases incredibly, the state at which he’s in, how tired and broken he is – he refuses to acknowledge it. He’s still willing to do his job, his duty to the town.

‘Actually, I came here for Stiles,’ Derek says quietly. He’s earned John’s full attention now.

‘Pardon me, but you look a little too old to be in high school,’

‘Stiles and I – we met a while ago,’ Most people, when they’re nervous, they shuffle around awkwardly, not making any eye contact. Derek? He stands rigid, and continues to make eye contact no matter how uncomfortable the situation has become.

‘I see,’ John stands up and puts his hands on his hips, tilting his head to the side slightly.

‘Derek,’ Derek says, shoving a hand in front of him. He waits for John to replicate the gesture and shake his hand, but he gets a concerned look instead.

‘You’re Derek..?’ He says, his eyebrows furrowed, it takes him a moment, before twisting around to reach his back pocket and pull out a crumped piece of paper. Derek drops his arm, realizing he probably won’t get that hand shaken. 

‘I suppose, this is for you too,’ He hands the piece of paper over to Derek. His hands shaking as he reaches out to receive it. He opens the folds of the paper to make out the scribbled handwriting inside.

 

He froze, he tries to read it, but he can’t. He’s frozen there, looking at the words, the letters, but they don’t form anything comprehendible in his mind. He looks up again, to the top of the page. He’s not sure he wants to read this.

 

‘Oh, so I see you two have met,’ Derek hears a sickening voice and looks up. He sees Meredith standing awfully close to John, with both her arms wrapped around his. It makes him want to puke. The Sheriff – an incredibly intelligent man – to fall for bullshit like this? He quickly folds the piece of paper and tucks it in his pockets before nodding his head.

‘So, you know Derek?’ John says to her, obviously confused.

‘We met when Stiles was injured last time,’ she smiles. John seems to take that as a satisfactory answer and leaves it. Derek thanks the Lord and all holy things John didn’t push it further.

‘Excuse me,’ Derek excuses himself to leave. He walks around the corner, and leans against the wall. He drops down on the floor and reopens the crumpled piece of paper.

 

_Goodbye._

 

He hates it already.

 

_Derek, thank you for coming into my life when you did. Without you, I wouldn’t have known what safety and security is. I wouldn’t have known what it was like to love someone, and to be loved back._

 

He rereads it, over and over again, his fingers, feeling the texture of the pencil lines, the bumps, thee dent it creates on the piece of paper. He wants to remember these words, these strokes, exactly how they were. Incase this is the last piece of Stiles he will ever have. He knows they never spoke it out loud, that the three words hung in the air of a frosty night where they lay together asleep. He knew it though, and despite the fact that it’s been only a short period of time, he knows he loves Stiles.

 

_To you, you win._

 

He wants to hurt her. He wants to hurt her and make her feel the pain that she put Stiles through. It breaks his heart to know that someone has broken through the wall he so bravely and patiently built up to protect himself over the years and destroyed him. He wants her to know that in fact, she hasn’t won, because there are still people like him fighting for Stiles.

 

_Please don’t forget me._

_I love you so much._

 

A tear he never knew was there drops onto the piece of paper, causing small wrinkles where the wetness touched the dry. He wipes it away, wanting to keep it as _Stiles_ as he possibly can. He doesn’t want to contaminate it with a mixture of him, or John, or Scott. This piece of paper is Stiles, and the only Stiles left that any of them will ever have.

 

After a few long minutes, Derek picks himself off the floor, and brushes away any of the dust and dirt on his back instinctively. He walks back to the waiting room, with the paper folded neatly in his hand.

‘Sir, I need to speak with you,’ Derek says hushed.

‘Listening,’ Meredith interrupts.

‘Alone,’ Derek glares at her, giving her no respect whatsoever.

‘Anything you want to say to him, can be said to me too,’ she says sharply.

‘Honey, it’s alright,’ John says as he gets up. He looks at Derek and gestures for them to move away from Meredith, crossing his arms once they’ve stopped.

‘So?’ He says, raising an eyebrow. Derek looks at him nervously.

‘Sir, I know this will sound absurd, but hear me out,’ Derek starts, licking his lips nervously. John puts his hands on his hips, almost naturally, but Derek knows that it’s because his hand is close to his gun, should anything go wrong.

‘How much do you know about Meredith?’ He gulps. The Sheriff looks at him questioningly.

‘She’s my wife, what do you think?’

‘Sir, with all due respect, I don’t know how else to tell you, so I’m going to be blunt. It’s Meredith,’ Derek says, maintaining eye contact. He struggles to get the next couple of words out and the intensity of John’s gaze. He now understands how he gets the criminals to give in and confess. To be a predator and feel like prey.

‘Stiles wrote ‘you win’. It’s Meredith,’ Derek clarifies quietly, unsure of what John’s reaction would be. To be frank, he’d never be able to prepare for what John might say or do. John breaks the eye contact and fiddles with his gun. He shuffles his feet nervously, before looking up to the ceiling. To Derek, it seems like he’s trying to delay something and avoid eye contact at all costs. John looks over, his gaze flickering to see Meredith on the seat, staring intensely at them. _She knows_.

 

John looks guiltily at the ground again, before looking up, straight past Derek’s shoulder.

‘I know,’ he whispers, only soft enough for Derek to hear. Derek snaps his head down to look at him – he doesn’t believe it. He looks at him, checks for any possible signs that John might be lying. If John knew, why didn’t he do anything? It’s his son, for God’s sake. Why wouldn’t he stop it?

‘Then why?’ Derek asks. Finally, _finally_ , John plucks the courage to make eye contact with Derek. He could see the guilt and the pain swimming in John’s eyes.

‘There was no proof, I couldn’t do anything,’ he says helplessly. Derek opens his mouth to respond, but John raises his hand.

‘I tried, I saw the way he felt around Meredith, hell, it don’t take a genius to figure that one out. But I had nothing on her. I had no hard evidence; it’s my word against hers. It’s a battle she wouldn’t back down on,’ John confesses. It only makes Derek angrier, _this_? _This_ is what Stiles lost his precious life for? John not being able to stand up for his son?

‘This is bullshit, you know better than this, he’s your _son_ ,’ Derek grits out through clenched teeth, trying to keep his voice down.

‘It’s my fault,’ John says quietly. Derek doesn’t say anything.

‘I’m glad he has you though,’ John says after a couple of seconds.

‘Had,’ Derek corrects him.

 

\--

 

Derek meets Scott in the waiting room, after an hour of walking and sweating.

‘What? Where’s Stiles?’ Scott says as soon as he sees John and Derek. Derek looks at John, waiting for him to say something, but he keeps his mouth shut.

‘Stiles – he’s not with us,’ Derek says, his voice breaking.

‘What the hell does that mean?’ Scott says.

‘We’re not sure, he could be – gone,’ Derek says, swallowing down the temptation to break down right there. He’s never admitted it, not out loud that he’s lost Stiles forever.

‘What do you mean, he could be?’ Scott’s yelling now, not giving a damn about the people giving him looks.

‘He’s in surgery,’ John says quietly.

‘Why would he do that?’ Scott utters.

‘He was bullied,’ John grits out.

‘That’s not possible, not at school. No one did. I don’t understand,’ Scott says, his eyebrows furrowed. Derek can see his mind working, going through every person, every possibility, trying to figure it out.

‘Meredith,’ Derek breathes out. Scott’s eyes are blown wide, his mouth drops.

‘I knew there was something I didn’t like about her,’

‘Where the hell is she?’ Scott says after a while. Derek realizes that the waiting room is empty and Meredith is nowhere to be found. He glances over at John, trying to pick up any trace of guilt, any possible chance that he may have betrayed Stiles one last time.

‘She left,’ Derek breathes out as the realization came to him.

‘She’s fucking gone,’ He says, harsher this time. There’s nowhere else she could be. Why would she be anywhere other than fleeing? This is exactly like what she did in a couple of towns over.

 

Derek remembers when he first dug around for her, asking his friends if they’ve heard of her, anything at all. He remembers when he first gets a phone call with news that he wishes he never heard.

 

_‘Derek, mate. I got nothing on your girl Meredith, but I’ve got something, you wouldn’t believe what I found. It’s not something you want to hear,’_

_‘Just tell me,’_

_‘So a couple of years ago, 2006 thereabouts, she had an affair with this guy, Tom Milton, and it went crazy. Her husband caught them, and she went beserk, she stabbed her husband, in fear of him telling anyone. Now guess what else she did?’_

_‘Do I want to know?’_

_‘You might as well know the rest of it. She locks the door and traps this Tom inside. She stabs him with said knife, multiple times. We’re not talking 3 or 4 times here. We’re talking 10+. Now, the funny thing is, she’s never been found out until recently, where her son – James – ran out to the police and filed for domestic abuse. There, we got her fingerprints, and it matched the ones from the blade. The police searched her house, but when they arrived, she was already gone.’_

_‘I really did not need to know that.’_

_‘You asked for it, buddy,’_

 

\--

 

Derek sits there patiently waiting with John on one side and Scott on the other. Scott refuses to speak to John, and that’s completely understandable. But cut the guy some slack, he’s never home, busy doing his duty to the town. The fact that he’s caught on is great, and to _really_ think about it, to have to watch your own son be tortured like that and be completely helpless, it’s not a great feeling.

 

He notices movement as John lifts his head up. He sees a man, possibly in his late thirties, wearing glasses that make him look like Harry Potter, wearing a long blue lab coat. His face showed no expression whatsoever.

‘John Stilinski?’ John nods, and stands up to meet him.

‘Follow me, sir,’ the young doctor says as his turns around and begins to walk. John takes in a deep breath. He glances at Derek, and Derek nods. He doesn’t get up to follow; he understands that although he may be welcome to join, it isn’t his place to intervene such a significant moment between father and son.

 

\--

 

John doesn’t know what to do. He hates that he isn’t able to read the doctor’s face as easily as he could with the criminals that sit in the interrogation room. He hates that he can’t see the doctors face as he walks behind him, and the pace at which the doctor walks is so neutral. He supposes the doctor’s had much experience with patients like this, both giving them bad news and good news.

 

He doesn’t know though, whether it’ll be good or bad. He prays for it to be good, he wishes with every single strand of his soul that his son will be okay, but he knows it’s not enough. He’s never been a man of faith, and right now, he wishes that if there’s anything out there, he hopes that they listen.

 

It feels like an hour, before they finally stop, and he knows that his heart is pounding. He can’t see anything, everything is blurring into a haze. The doctor opens the door and lets him in.

 

The first thing he notices isn’t how the room isn’t icy cold, or the fact that there is light shining through the windows. It isn’t that it’s unfriendly, or has an unusual smell of disinfectant.

 

The first thing he notices is the steady beat of the heart monitor.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i want to hug everyone of you out there that shed their tears with this fic, because i did too.  
> i want to thank all of you that took the time to read it.  
> and i really want to write a sequel to this, but i'm kind of content the way it is.  
> i'm not making promises, but we'll see.  
> anyways, thank you so much.


	11. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> due to popular demand, i've written an epilogue. it's not perfect, but i hope it'll do. :)

Epilogue

 

 

‘I’m sorry,’ John whispers over Stiles head as he leans down to kiss Stiles’ forehead. It was only two words, but the weight that it bears was so much more and Stiles understood that. It didn’t need to be spoken between them, since the guilt was blatantly present, and for that, Stiles is okay with. Stiles smiles weakly, and brings his dad in for a hug.

‘I know,’ Stiles says as he lets go of his dad.

‘I’ve missed you,’

 

\--

 

It’s been a few months since the incident. They refuse to talk about it now, Stiles and John; they’ve buried it deep inside of them along with all the memories they wish to forget. It would be a lie to say that their relationship is good, because it wasn’t. There were cracks and tears still need to be sewn together, and John knew it could never be the way it was before, but he hopes that it could come close.

 

It makes him happy that Stiles is talking to him more often now, rather than the silent and uncomfortable dinners they would have, and there's always the guilt that punches John in the gut every time he sees Stiles come home and refuses to speak more than a few words with him. He knows it’s getting there, Stiles too, that their trust is slowly being repaired. It’s going to take time, and John vows that no matter how long it takes, he’s going to wait because he’s never going to let Stiles go through something so tormenting alone ever again. It’s his duty as a father, as it is his duty as the Sheriff to the town.

 

Meredith is now no longer existent to the population of Beacon Hills. That doesn’t mean that the Sheriff is doing whatever they can to find her, but since they are a small town, their resources are limited. When they do, John knows exactly what he’s going to do with her.

 

Stiles is going back to school now, and they’ve been keeping it as quiet as possible about it. Thankfully, from all the strings that John had to pull, they’ve refrained from Stiles having to go to rehab and all the other processes that most victims of attempted suicide would have to go through. It was difficult at first, and of the people that knew what happened, they tried to help Stiles through it as much as they can. By helping, that meant they didn’t speak of it once unless Stiles wanted to – which ended up being never, not even now – and smiting every one who tried to run the rumour mill.

 

Without a doubt, he’d been quiet at first, more unsure of himself than he’d ever been. The Stiles everyone used to know didn’t show up, and is still yet to show up, but between Scott, Lydia and Danny? They didn’t mind, they were thankful enough that Stiles was here, alive, and living life.

 

Derek had come to stay with Stiles every evening, now that their secret was revealed. Scott had feigned a hurt look and teased Stiles about not telling him, which got him a glimpse of a smile. It was good enough for everyone at that point.

 

It was especially in the evenings that everything began to go badly for Stiles. It’s the way it made him feel when the sky would darken to an eventual cloak of black that brought his mood down. It was usually then that all the reasons of his incident came back to him, and it almost became unbearable. Thoughts of the willingness of his escape, the pain in his wrists, and the blood draining out of him replayed in his mind. Every single emotion that had coursed through him before and during then, and the way it could’ve been without him after, the _guilt_ , would flood through him, and he’d be completely unreachable by the outside world. He’d shut himself in, blocking out the world, not quite trusting it again yet.

 

It was then that Derek would slip into the room beside Stiles, and he would just sit there next to Stiles in complete silence. Sometimes, they’d be on the bed, and Derek would slip in, and hold Stiles against him, making sure Stiles _knows_ that no matter what, Derek will not leave him. It was these moments that he knew in himself that he didn’t need anything else in the world, that he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else other than here, helping Stiles and being what Stiles needs.

 

No matter how difficult it was for Derek to be there in complete silence, with absolutely no idea what to do or how to act, other than just be someone to lean on. The thoughts than ran through Derek’s head the first couple of nights were nothing but questions. He wonders if what he’s doing is right, or what if Stiles doesn’t want him here. Usually, he’d be reassured when Stiles responds to presence by leaning on his shoulder, or returning the embrace. That’d be enough for him to know he’s doing something right.

 

It was completely different for Stiles; he loved having Derek here, even if it was just in silence. It was the silence that made it comfortable for him, the fact that Derek didn’t push him into talking, and knowing that there was someone here with him to get through those thoughts, he knows that there is someone that wants him here. He knows that there’s someone who’s thankful for him being alive. He’s grateful for that.

 

It was about a month and a half later than Stiles finally uttered a word during their silence. It was a Wednesday, Derek remembers. It startled him at first, unsure if it was really his imagination. The voice was so small, barely a whisper, and a gaze so powerful that he felt trapped. It was then that Stiles began pouring out small fragments of his soul, each thought, so carefully filtered before being let out of his mouth for Derek to hear. It was then that Derek realized how significant this moment is, that Stiles is finally going to try and trust the world again. Derek realizes that Stiles chose him to be the first person he opens up to again, after being broken down and wrecked completely.

 

 It only took that one evening where there were long pauses between phrases and hesitant words, but after that, Stiles poured everything out to Derek – every thought, every emotion, every action. It made Derek understand Stiles more, it made him feel privileged to be shown such a side that no one has seen before, and he doubts that anyone will ever see.

 

By the end of the day, Stiles would be silently in tears. Derek would know that after this pause, it was all Stiles was ready to give to the world that day, and it was far more than enough for what the world had done to him. Derek would kiss his forehead, his cheeks where the tear tracks were. He’d kiss Stiles so passionately and slowly, each day, reminding him that he wasn’t going to go anywhere.

 

He knows that although Stiles may never be the Stiles before that he never knew, he’s sure that Stiles will never be the Stiles he met at the bar, getting drunk senseless to escape reality. He’s proud to be part of this road to recovery, and he’s glad to share this with Stiles.

 

Even with the rare words that Derek spoke each evening, Stiles knew that everything will be okay eventually, and he knew that he was going to make it. He knows that there are people with him now, people that he loves and people that love him. He knows now that not everyone leaves.

 


End file.
